by Ginny Aiken
As she stepped to the door, she tried to smooth things over with a less touchy topic. “Cooky is making lamb stew with the leftover roast we just had. I know how you love her stew.”
“I’ll be sure to enjoy my supper. As I always do.”
This time, she nodded and ducked around the door, closing it behind her. On the other side, she let out a huge breath, fighting the urge to lean back against the door until her legs felt more like bone and muscle than an unstarched shirt on washday.
That had been awkward. She hadn’t fooled Eli. Clearly, the famous Mr. Alan Pinkerton would not come seeking her services for his agency in the near future.
Out in the banking lobby, Olivia looked around again. Another surprise met her gaze. At the opposite corner of the room from Mr. Andrews’s desk, she noticed Mrs. O’Dell sitting across another desk from a total stranger. This man wore a gray suit, his dark hair touched with a sprinkle of silver, slicked down from a center part. Clearly, he worked for Eli.
Hoping for an introduction, she realized both Mr. Colby and Mr. Holtwood had customers to tend, and Mr. Andrews had returned to his ciphers. She was on her own. Fortunately, Mrs. O’Dell was Mama’s friend.
“Good morning,” she told the widow. “I’m surprised to see you here today.”
Mrs. O’Dell rose quickly despite her substantial frame, bringing to mind the solid mahogany armoire in Eli’s bedroom. “It’s a pleasure to see you, Livvy, dear. Haven’t but caught a glimpse of you since you married. The children must keep you busy.”
Mrs. O’Dell’s hug was tight, familiar, and welcome. “I’m sure you know. You had your own brood to watch.”
“The boys are men. Martin went to Seattle, while Terrence lives in Cleveland. Very, very far.”
“It must be difficult, now that Mr. O’Dell—” Olivia caught herself. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up your sad loss.”
“I do miss him,” she said, “but I’m comforted knowing I’ll see him again once I’m before the Father’s throne.”
“That is a comfort.”
“It’s his loss,” the older woman continued, “that brings me to the bank today. I’ve come to sign all kinds of papers Harry left behind. Now that I’m opening up a bakery, your Mr. Whitman insisted we do this right. All the property and the little money we had, he wants to put in my name. Imagine that.”
“I suppose it is all yours now, so it’s right to have it in your name.”
“Eli said this way no one can challenge me, no one can leave me out in the street. I hope you recognize what a good man you have there, Livvy,” the older woman said, her voice gruff, her forehead lined with a frown, her eyes fast on the desktop. “I certainly hope you appreciate him. He’s an upstanding gentleman, decent, honest, sober and dry as desert sand, and more loyal than most fellas’ dogs.”
“I know, Mrs. O’Dell. I know how blessed I am.” Because she did, she would do everything in her power to help Eli, even in spite of himself.
She turned to the man behind the desk, hand outstretched. “We haven’t met. I’m Olivia Whitman, and you are…?”
The man stood and took her hand in a firm clasp. “Lewis Parham, the bank’s new secretary.”
“Indeed,” Mrs. O’Dell said. “He’s taken over Harry’s position, and I see he’s doing an admirable job.”
Mr. Parham smiled. His keen brown eyes gave a hint to his intelligence, while his gray-dusted hair suggested well-earned experience. “With time, I hope to do work as fine as Mr. O’Dell did. He left everything in impeccable condition.”
“That was my Harry. He was always after organizing even my kitchen. Cups and plates and spoons and all. It didn’t matter. Everything had to be just so for that man.”
It would seem this man also had his finger on all the information needed to swindle everyone. His newcomer status made no difference, since Mr. O’Dell had left all the documents in “impeccable” condition. How had Eli made the decision to trust him? Was he trustworthy? Or had he arrived, quickly identified the opportunity, then, when asked to write letters, he’d written whatever benefited him? He’d have access to all Eli’s business correspondence. Surely the man had a hand in writing the letters to the mortgaged landowners. Maybe, just like Eli’s wife before him, he’d learned to forge Eli’s signature.
Anything was possible, and this man was a stranger. No one knew what he might do.
Now it was a matter of reaching Eli, not an easy thing for her. But as Mama always said, with God, all things were possible.
Chapter 23
As Olivia started to leave, the bank door opened before her and a mountain of a man walked in. As soon as he saw her, he removed his hat. “ ’Morning, Mrs. Whitman. Pleasure to see you again.”
Olivia smiled at the bank’s minority partner, whom she’d met on her wedding day. “Yes, Mr. Bartlett, it’s nice to see you again.”
“Please call me Nathan.” When she nodded, he continued. “I hope Eli’s rascals aren’t giving you too much trouble. He’s told me tales of their antics.”
“If you’d asked me before the wedding you would have heard of the horrors of stray grasshoppers and honey-covered furniture. But now, they’re quite charming.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Eli said from inches away from Olivia’s shoulder.
Shocked by his silent arrival, she turned and almost lost her balance. He caught her elbow. The usual rush of sensation flooded through her. Their gazes met, clung. Images filled her thoughts. Awareness charged the air, and longing lodged in her throat. Olivia couldn’t have spoken if her life depended on it.
She loved him.
The strain between them hurt.
She wanted nothing more than to collapse into his embrace.
Eli gathered himself first. He released her arm, then turned to Nathan. “I’m surprised to see you in town again so soon. This is—what? The fourth time, the fifth?—in the last couple of months. I don’t remember when you last spent so much time here. Did you need to see me?”
Her eyes still fixed on her husband, Olivia caught a momentary flare of worry, perhaps alarm in his eyes. But it came and went so fast, she began to wonder if she’d imagined it.
Nathan cleared his throat. “Matter of fact, I do. It’s about that flume we discussed the last time I was here.”
“I was afraid of that.” Eli’s jaw took on a stonelike rigidity. “Nothing’s changed since then. Winter’s almost here, nothing’s been planted, much less harvested, and the bank’s liquidity is as before.”
“Something’s changed. For me.” Nathan glanced around the busy lobby. “But I don’t think my finances—or the bank’s business—is something we should discuss in public.”
Although she would have loved to hear the men’s conversation, Olivia knew the time had come for her to leave. “I’ll let you gentlemen get on with your business. I’m sure Cooky’s waiting for me.” She looked at Nathan. “We will see you on Christmas Eve, won’t we?”
“If the weather holds, ma’am. If snows come, then I don’t know that I’ll come down the mountain. Too much risk of getting stuck here in town or on the mountain trail. In either case, I can’t be away from the logging camp too long.”
She nodded. “Then I hope the weather holds.”
As she stepped out the door, Nathan spoke again, this time to Eli. “It’s time we—the bank—take a stance on those outstanding loans. I need my money…”
A noose seemed to tighten around her throat. Was this evidence of Eli’s wrongdoing? Or did it point to Nathan Bartlett? As a partner, even though a lesser one, as Eli had said, he could take action. The logging camp owner had just said he needed money.
For that matter, just because Mr. Holtwood and Mr. Colby had worked for Eli and his father for many years, it didn’t necessarily follow that they would always be true and faithful employees. Same thing went for Mr. Andrews, and loyalty could hardly be expected from the new Mr. Parham.
As Olivia set off for home, she found herself mor
e confused than ever. It appeared her visit had solved nothing at all. She had more potential culprits than before.
And her family’s time was running out.
Between the day Olivia went to the bank to meet Mr. Andrews and Mr. Parham, and the day before the party, she tried every way she knew to approach Eli again. He, in turn, spent his time eluding her every way he could. They became virtual strangers, and Olivia didn’t know how much longer she could stand to stay in the Whitman home.
Her only other choice would be to confess to Mama and Papa how dreadfully bad things had become between her and Eli, and then leave with the family when they went back East. No part of that scenario appealed.
Each time she thought of leaving Eli, she had to fight the tears that filled her eyes. He’d torn her heart in two with his refusal to trust her, so she didn’t see how they could make a marriage work under those circumstances. How much could two people, husband and wife, share if one didn’t trust the other? Her best example was that set by her parents. Elizabeth and Stephen Moore shared every part of the life they had built upon the rock of their faith.
She’d wanted the same for her marriage.
Now, with the way things stood, she saw no hope for sharing, much less growing old together. Still, she would miss him with every fiber of her being. She continued to love him.
And the children…
Although she felt torn to shreds inside, she’d promised Eli her best effort with the Christmas party, and she meant to keep every bit of her promise. She continued to work closely with Cooky to put the finishing touches on the myriad details, and she thought she’d done an acceptable job hiding her misery from the older woman.
That would be another wrenching good-bye for her, the day she was forced to part from the dear, dear woman. Olivia didn’t want to think too much about it. It only added to the heaviness in her heart.
How was a woman to leave one family for the sake of another? She forced the troubling thoughts away, and continued her preparations, fasting and praying for favor.
“Is everything ready for the meal?” she asked Cooky that afternoon after the two of them, assisted by Cooky’s daughter Kate, had stretched out the parlor rug on the backyard clothesline and beaten every speck of dust out of it. “This is almost our last chance to tie up any loose ends.”
“Everything from the kitchen is ready, I’m a-telling you. And I’m waiting until all these folks come see how hard you’ve worked. They’d all better be recognizing you for the fine, godly woman you are, too, s’what I say. I won’t be having none of that bootlicking foolishness so many of these high and mighty important sorts are insisting on all their born days, I tell you.”
Olivia wasn’t about to comment on that. “You’ve worked even harder than I have, Cooky. After the table’s cleared tomorrow night, you can take well-deserved time off for yourself.”
“Oh, go on with you, Missus Livvy!” Cooky planted her fists on her hips. “What would you be having me do, what with no meals to make and none of you Whitmans to keep running along smooth-like? Why, I’m sure and I wouldn’t have a notion what to be doing with myself.”
Olivia didn’t dare let a smile break forth. “I’d say we’re ready then. The rooms look as pretty as a Christmas dream come true, and all I need now is to get the children and me ready tomorrow afternoon. Luke and Randy know they’ll only join the grown-ups for a short while. I’d like them to have an early supper before anyone gets here, so that after they’ve greeted the guests, I can send them straight to bed.”
“Sounds like a dandy of a plan, it does. I’ll make sure and save a tasty treat for each one of them. That way, I’m thinking, when they have to go to their rooms, they won’t be a-fussing and envying all those folks you’re having in for that mighty fine banquet I’m serving up.”
Olivia looked around the kitchen, at the bowl of apples left after Cooky had baked a half dozen pies, the sack of potatoes ready for peeling and mashing and serving with puddles of butter in nooks and crannies, bright green peapods ready for shelling, plump gold squash about to be baked, and deep red beets, pickled and canned and only needing to be warmed and served.
“It does look as though we’re ready. My mouth waters every time I come in here. You’re a treasure, Cooky, and you’ve done wonders with each of our ideas. Mr. Whitman will be so happy and proud when he sees it all.”
Cooky crossed her plump arms and studied Olivia with all-seeing eyes. “And are you thinking that will chase away the mighty big black cloud he’s been a-carrying over that thick head of his these last pair of weeks or so?”
Olivia gasped. She hadn’t expected Cooky to bring up such a sensitive subject. She wished she had a way to fight the hot blush that singed her cheeks, but nothing could have stopped it. “I… why, I’m not sure I know what you mean—”
“Now, Missus Livvy!” Cooky’s eyes snapped, her lips pursed, and she wagged a chubby finger in Olivia’s face. “I tell you, I never woulda thought you’d try and fib like that at me. No sir, I did not. You and Mr. Whitman are on the out and outs, and anyone with eyes in their heads can see it, clear as fresh-cracked egg whites, at that.”
Mortified, all Olivia could do was nod. “Yes, well, I’m sure he’ll be fine soon enough—”
“He’s not making things easy-like for himself, is he now? That frowning and fretting makes him look like a pinched-up prune. What woman with sense in her head would be wanting to hug and kiss a prune, I ask you?”
Again, Olivia’s cheeks sizzled. “I really don’t know what to say.”
Cooky shook her kitchen towel at Olivia. “No need to be saying anything to me now. It’s the man with the black cloud you’d best be talking to. I reckon plain talk’s the best way to knock that cloud right out of your way.”
Before Cooky could say anything more outrageous than she already had, Olivia came up with a feeble excuse and ran from the kitchen as fast as she could go. She kept herself busy the rest of the day, fussed with details that needed no additional care, helped the children wrap their gifts for Eli, and then lingered over supper far longer than she ever had before.
Later, when she could no longer avoid it, she kissed Luke and Randy good night and went out to the upstairs landing, certain she should try to break through Eli’s stubborn silence, but unwilling to face another ugly quarrel.
“Oh, Father,” she whispered. “I can’t continue to be a coward and hide in fear. I didn’t believe Papa when he first told me he felt you’d led me to Eli and the children for a time like this, but as the days have gone by, I’ve come to accept he spoke the truth. I still don’t feel up to the task, but I know your Word says you’ll never leave me or forsake me. Don’t forsake me now.”
When she walked into the parlor, however, Eli gave her no chance to speak.
“You’ve never told me what you want for Christmas. I’ve asked you a number of times, but each time you have put me off. Now it’s only one full day and one night until Christmas Day, and you haven’t said a thing.”
Olivia wouldn’t have been more shocked if he’d broken into patriotic songs and a military march the moment she stepped into the room. How could he bring up the subject of a gift? Why now, after he hadn’t said more than a handful of terse words to her since their argument?
On the other hand, at one point she had planned to ask him for mercy for the cash-strapped farmers and ranchers as a gift to her. While he’d waited until almost the last moment to bring it up, and he had done so after they’d had their first serious argument and an icy standoff of his own making, he once again asked what she wanted.
There was only one thing she wanted.
Now the Lord had opened a way for her. God had answered her prayer. She couldn’t let fear overcome her faith in Him.
“I confess your question surprises me,” she said, approaching Eli. “But after the last time you asked, an idea did occur to me. I never found time to mention it since. You have brought it back to mind now.”
He raised his
pipe to his lips, drew on the fragrant smoke, expelled it, and only then did he speak again. “What would that idea be?”
“The only gift I want, especially after all your generosity toward me, is the gift of mercy. But I don’t ask for myself.”
With a curl of smoke still rising from the bowl, he set the pipe in the small tray he kept on the table by his chair, and stood. “That is unusual.”
He strode to the fireplace, placed a foot on a shiny brass andiron and an elbow on the garland-swathed mantel before going on. “I must say, you have captured my curiosity. Go ahead. Tell me everything.”
His blue, blue stare seemed more intense than she’d ever seen it, and it didn’t flag. Olivia clasped her hands at her midsection and nodded.
“Please show mercy to the farmers and ranchers who received the notices of foreclosure,” she said. “I don’t understand how you could demand full payment of those mortgages by the end of the year and threaten to throw those families from their homes when you know they won’t have money until the next harvest.”
While his jaw had tightened again in that now familiar stony line, when she mentioned the foreclosures his brows drew close and a puzzled expression came over his face.
“Please stop, Olivia. In the first place, you’re again throwing aside our agreement. In the second, I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. What foreclosures? What farmers and ranchers?”
She must have caught enough of his curiosity for him to question her in spite of the blasted agreement he’d imposed on them. She wasn’t about to question the inconsistency, but instead thanked the Lord for the opening and stepped forward with what she had to do.
“Of course you do. Papa showed me the letter you sent with the demand for full payment of the mortgage by the thirty-first of December. Should he not pay—and you know he can’t—he’s to abandon the house and the outbuildings in three days.”
Eli shook his head. “Absolutely not. I never sent your father any such letter.”