Etta’s work at the bank was interesting and important, and she wouldn’t want to sacrifice it for a husband and children. But, as everyone said these days, times were changing. With women’s suffrage and prohibition on the horizon, families were bound to change. Maybe a working wife and mother wouldn’t be the outrage it had once been.
As Etta turned onto the road that led to her home, one of her mother’s oft-quoted Bible verses came to mind. “Don’t worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things.” The words hadn’t made sense before, but now she understood their meaning. First, she needed to solve the bank’s problem. Her future would unfold the way it should, whether she worried about it or not.
****
Prayer meetings at Gabriel’s church were held once a month, and in addition to the benefits of quiet meditation and shared concerns, the fellowship following the service offered congregants a sense of community and shared burdens. Gabriel sat with a group of men, listening with only one ear and thinking about Etta.
“Did you read about Zapata?” Homer Chapman, a short, heavyset man near his father’s age, asked.
“’Bout time somebody shot that son of a gun,” Abe Schultz replied.
Gabriel’s tepid coffee turned bitter in his mouth. Men who had never seen battle talked so casually of death. Emiliano Zapata had fought for the rights of the poor, but taking up arms had ultimately led to his own demise. Perhaps violence could be justified in some instances, but Gabriel would be happy to never fire a gun again.
He ambled to the nearby group where his mother and other ladies of the church stood in a tight circle. His earlier trip to the Davis’s house had yielded few results. The housekeeper had told him Etta was expected back later that day, but she didn’t know a time. Mr. Davis had waved to him from a shaded chair in the courtyard, but remembering his father’s earlier assessment of Mr. Davis’s speaking ability, Gabriel hadn’t tried to engage him in conversation.
Normally, Gabriel would have avoided the cluster of women, but he knew they had an inclination to harmless gossip. If anyone knew the latest rumors about Etta, it would be one of his mother’s acquaintances.
Mrs. Franklin held a sleeping toddler in her arms. “When are you moving to San Antonio, Eula?”
The recently widowed Mrs. Farrington answered. “As soon as the papers are signed and the bank business is finished.”
“We’re going to miss you,” Mrs. Henderson said, “but I understand why you’d want to be closer to your daughter and grandchildren.”
“Is Simon Ward still buying your land?” asked Mrs. Hoffman.
“That’s right. If I don’t take a cruise around the world, it should be enough to last me.”
The women laughed softly at Mrs. Farrington’s comment. Weren’t these women ever going to say anything about Etta?
Mrs. Stoutman spoke next. “How many grandchildren do you have now, Eula?”
Oh, brother. Gabriel felt a familiar irritation burrowing under the skin at the back of his neck. He’d blow his top if he didn’t get away from these ladies soon.
Mrs. Farrington’s eyes lit up as she smiled. “Two girls and one boy. I’ve been sewing lots of new dresses. I can hardly wait to try them on the girls.”
Sewing? If Gabriel didn’t get their conversation on the right track, the ladies would be talking about recipes next. He leaned down and whispered into his mother’s ear. She glanced at him with a puzzled gaze but nodded.
“Has anyone heard the latest about Henry and Etta?” Sara Benson asked.
Mrs. Farrington veered away from the subject of her grandchildren. “I have an appointment at the bank in two days. Simon Ward is going to take over the loan payments as part of the land deal. We have to sign some papers.”
“You were lucky your neighbor wanted to buy your place,” Mrs. Stoutman said. “Otherwise, you might have taken years to sell it. You know the Hoffpauir place was on the market…”
Gabriel clenched his teeth. He couldn’t stand their chatter much longer.
His mother must have sensed something, because she guided the conversation back to where he wanted it. “Etta has done a fine job taking over for her father.”
“To tell you the truth,” Mrs. Henderson said, “I didn’t think little Etta had it in her. Who knew that fancy college education of hers would prepare her to be a banker?”
“I’m not the least bit surprised,” Sara said. “I’m sorry Henry is ill, but it did give Etta an opportunity to show everyone what she’s made of.”
Ida Clark sniffed and spoke for the first time. “I’d be happier if Etta had stayed in her father’s shadow.”
Sara frowned at the older lady. “Why, Ida. What does that mean?”
Mrs. Clark blushed and cast her gaze to the floor. “I don’t mean to be unkind. I know Etta has always been a good girl, and we all simply adored Catherine.” The women nodded in assent. “But you all know how I rely upon William.”
What did William Clark have to do with Etta? Gabriel nudged his mother’s shoulder.
“Your son is devoted to you,” Sara said. “What concerns you?”
“Well…” Mrs. Clark glanced around the circle of women as though checking for spies. “…William told me he’d spoken to Etta about marriage.”
The women gasped in unison.
Gabriel’s heart skipped several beats.
Mrs. Henrichson was the first person to find her voice. “You don’t say!”
Mrs. Clark touched the corner of her eye with a lacy white handkerchief. “I’m afraid so.”
Mrs. Franklin patted the back of her sleeping child. “Etta will make William a fine wife. After all, she comes from one of the best families in the county.”
“Surely you must have been expecting this,” said Mrs. Henderson. “You didn’t expect your son to stay single for his whole life, did you?”
Mrs. Clark sniffed into her handkerchief. “Ever since my husband died when William was a boy, my son has been devoted to me. But a wife can have a mighty strong influence on a man. Without my boy to take care of me, what will happen to me?”
Mrs. Henrichson clucked her tongue. “You’re worrying about something that might not even happen. Henrietta has done right by her father, hasn’t she? If the time comes, I’m sure she’ll do right by you, too.”
Ida Clark flattened her lips into a rigid line. “William plans to speak to Henry Davis just as soon as he’s able to receive visitors. Once my son makes up his mind about something, there’s little chance of dissuading him.”
Gabriel couldn’t listen to one more word. He turned away from the women and strode out of the building. Of all the betrayals! He’d shared things with Etta that he’d told no one else. Surely, she knew what she meant to him. Why hadn’t she honored their understanding?
He kicked the hard ground and fisted his hands. If Etta wanted William Clark, she was welcome to him. Gabriel’s stomach roiled at the thought of William touching her. Who was he kidding? He loved Etta. He’d been fighting to repair his broken parts so that he could propose marriage. But William Clark had beaten him to it.
William Clark, Attorney-at-Law. Who never went to war. Who had a nice, cushy office job. Of course, Etta would prefer William over him.
Gabriel cursed under his breath and stomped away from the church. The night sky stretched above him just as it did every night, but this time Gabriel could have sworn the stars were laughing at him.
12
The next morning, Etta refilled her father’s cup with black coffee but refrained from doing more for him. Charlie Simpson had cautioned that her eagerness to help her father would only inhibit his progress toward independence. She averted her gaze as her father labored to spoon sugar into his cup without spilling it on the table.
Rosa set another biscuit on Charlie’s plate. Although she couldn’t be sure, Etta thought she detected a special warmness in the smile Rosa gave him.
“Did Benito talk to you this morning?” Rosa asked as she passed behin
d Etta’s chair.
“Yes. He left Mira in the stable because he wants me to look at her hoof.” Noting the concerned expression on her father’s face, Etta hurried to explain. “Benito thinks an abscess might be forming. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”
Henry nodded and slowly raised the cup to his mouth. His hand still trembled, but the coffee stayed in the cup.
“In fact,” Etta said as she ate the last bite of eggs, “I think I’ll do that right now. I have some clients to call on this morning before I go in to the bank, and I’ll stop by the vet’s office while I’m out.”
Etta kissed her father’s freshly-shaven cheek and carried her dish to the sink. The early morning sun glistened on dew-covered wildflowers as she walked from the house to the stables. She stopped to take a deep breath of spring air and to thank the Lord for her father’s recovery. If her father kept improving at this rate, she’d soon see him riding. That would be a day to rejoice. Nothing buoyed her father’s spirits as much as working with his horses.
Cats danced around Etta’s feet as she neared the stable. “Nothing today,” she said, squatting to pet the playful animals. “I’ll bring you something later.” She’d have some explaining to do when her father returned to the stable. He wouldn’t like it that she’d been coddling the kittens.
Antares and three mares browsed placidly in the pasture as she entered the stable. Upon hearing her footsteps, Mira nickered a greeting from her stall.
“Good morning to you, too,” Etta said. “I hear you may have a sore foot.”
She hastened to the stall with light steps. But her heart stopped as quickly as her feet when she saw Gabriel standing next to Mira.
“Gabriel!” She rushed toward him, delight coursing through her veins at the sight of him. “When did you get back?”
Gabriel turned his back to her and stepped behind the mare. “Good morning, Etta. How are you?”
Etta’s excitement froze in her throat. “What?”
“I thought I’d come by and check on your horses. It looks as though Benito’s been doing a fine job.” Gabriel squatted and lifted Mira’s hind leg. “I agree with him about the hoof. Would you like me to call the vet?”
Etta’s throat ached from the emotion she fought to keep at bay. She’d dreamed of running into Gabriel’s arms, but he obviously wasn’t as glad to see her as she was to see him. “Is something wrong? Why didn’t you let me know you were back?”
“Everything’s fine, Etta. Except Mira’s hoof. I’ll call Doc Scott and see when he can get by here.”
Why was Gabriel being so cold? What had happened to change him?
Etta searched his face for the man she’d fallen in love with. The same light blue eyes glanced at her, but now they were shuttered. He appeared to be freshly-shaven, so it wasn’t stubble that darkened his expression. Etta clasped her hands behind her back and stood near the stall door.
Gabriel remained in the corner of the stall, as though using the horse’s body as a shield.
Mira flicked her ears and shifted her weight from one side to another, perhaps sensing the uneasiness between the two humans she normally trusted.
Etta blinked away traitorous tears. “Is that all you have to say to me, Gabriel?”
He rested his hands on Mira’s back and glared at Etta. “What else is there to say?”
Etta turned her face away and gazed at the open stable door. Why was she subjecting herself to such treatment? She’d done nothing except pine for Gabriel the whole time he’d been gone. How silly she’d been to dream about his return.
“I’m glad you’re home.” Etta winced to hear her voice quiver. She swallowed and tried again. “I hope your trip was a success.” She stepped out of the stall and walked toward the stable door. Tears flowed down her cheeks, but she was determined not to let Gabriel see her distress. How could she have been so wrong about him?
Well, fine. If that’s the way he wanted it, she wouldn’t force herself on him. Besides, she had no time for romance. She had a bank to save, and the less she thought about Gabriel Benson, the better.
****
Gabriel pounded the stable wall as he watched Etta march back toward the house. He hadn’t planned on seeing her until he’d grown accustomed to the idea of her marrying someone else. Although, if he were truthful, that could take decades.
Then she’d stepped into the stable, radiating the peaceful joy that was as much a part of her as her hair and skin, and anger had risen up his spine and landed on his tongue. He shouldn’t have spoken to her so brusquely, but it had taken every ounce of self-control to not take her in his arms and convince her to marry him instead of William Clark.
What right did he have to speak to her of marriage? William was a professional man with a secure future, and Gabriel had little to offer. He had no job, no home of his own. He didn’t even have an automobile. William Clark wasn’t haunted by the war. He probably slept through the night and dreamed of spring meadows and lollipops.
Gabriel slammed the stall door but immediately regretted it when Mira squealed and bolted away from him. He sank to the ground and rested his back against the wall. He’d lost so much since that one day in France, and now it looked as though he would lose his future, too.
****
Cora Beck was hanging wet overalls on the line when Etta drove up to the ranch house. Cora wore a faded floral housedress and a man’s battered hat.
Etta removed her Breton-styled hat and matching gloves before exiting the car. She’d considered wearing her riding clothes in order to visit the farmers and ranchers whose accounts were overdue, but since she was coming on bank business, she wore a camel-colored light wool skirt with matching jacket.
Cora raised a hand in greeting and ambled toward the dusty drive. “Morning, Miss Davis. What brings you all the way out here?”
Etta returned Cora’s warm smile and removed her jacket. “Good morning. I’m calling on clients today to see how they’re doing. Is Kurt or his father around?”
“Not right now, but they’ll be heading in for lunch soon. Come on in, and I’ll pour us some lemonade.”
“That sounds wonderful. Thank you.”
Etta followed Cora onto the back porch of the rambling frame house and into the kitchen.
A cardboard box of folded baby clothes sat on top of the round table.
“Sorry about the mess,” Cora said as she moved the box to the floor. “I was getting some things together for our neighbor. Their baby’s due any day now.”
The sight of the baby clothes pricked Etta’s tender heart. Cora’s baby had been born too early and had died after only a few days of life, its tiny body unable to thrive. “It’s generous of you to share.”
Cora fingered the crocheted lace on a tiny yellow sweater. “Oh, they’re just a loan. I’ll get ‘em back when I need ‘em.”
Etta wanted to comfort the young woman, but she barely knew Cora. The Beck family had been clients of the bank for many years, but Cora had married Kurt Beck while he’d been working on an uncle’s ranch in Oklahoma. Etta lightly touched Cora’s shoulder. “I was sorry to hear of your loss.”
Cora walked to the window and gestured with her head. “We had a nice service for our little Melanie. She’s right up there in the family plot, looking down on us.” She glanced at Etta, smiled quickly, and returned her gaze to the window. “I know she’s not really there, but it’s a comfort to know she’s still close. Kurt and me will have more children. I’m sure of it.”
Life in rural Texas was so hard. Water was the only antidote to the summer heat, and rain could be as scarce as diamonds.
“I admire your positive outlook,” Etta said. “I’m not sure I would do as well if I were in your situation.”
Two men rode up to the house, their pinto horses kicking up plumes of dust.
“Here’s Kurt and his pa now,” Cora said. “I need to get lunch on the table.”
Both men stopped outside the back door and used a wooden boot jack to pr
y off their dirty boots. Oscar Beck entered first, followed closely by his son. “Hey there, Miss Davis. I wondered whose car that was. What brings you out today?”
Etta offered her hand to Oscar.
Like most of the area ranchers, Oscar was deeply tanned. In keeping with the spring warmth, he wore a long-sleeved white cotton work shirt and khaki pants.
“I wanted a chance to talk to you about a few things, but don’t let me interrupt your lunch. I can come back another time.”
Oscar removed his broad-brimmed straw hat and hung it from a nail by the back door. “Nonsense. Just tuck in and share what we’ve got. As long as you don’t mind plain eating.”
The salt of the earth. That’s how Etta’s mother had described these hardworking people. They persevered through droughts and erratic cattle markets to make a living doing what they loved. “I’d love to stay for lunch. It sure smells good.”
Kurt Beck removed his hat and shook Etta’s hand. “Nice to see you, Miss Davis. What brings you all the way out here?”
“I’m visiting some of the bank’s clients today. But don’t worry. It’s not bad news.”
Kurt smiled broadly, his teeth whiter than normal due to his sun-darkened skin. “That’s a load off my mind. We don’t need any bad news.” He nodded to Etta and walked to the stove where Cora dished out a fragrant meal. Kurt laid a gentle hand on Cora’s shoulder and kissed her cheek.
She turned and smiled up at her husband, an everyday intimacy that stung Etta’s heart. It was precisely that kind of loving touch that Etta had dreamed about sharing with Gabriel. Etta tried to picture William coming home after work, tired from a day in the office. Would he greet her with a kiss and a loving touch? She couldn’t picture it.
Cora carried a large crockery bowl to the table. “Just cornbread, butter beans, and a chunk of ham,” she said, setting the food on the oil-cloth covered table.
“Do we still have buttermilk?” Oscar asked.
“Sit down,” Cora answered. “I’ll get some.”
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