A Thousand Little Blessings

by Claire Sanders

  “But?”

  “But it’s become clear that marriage to William would be like voluntarily entering a cage. He wants someone who’ll care for his mother and be content to raise his children and stand in his shadow. He’d never sit still for a wife who wants to work outside the home.”

  “There are plenty of girls who would be satisfied with that kind of life, but you’re not one of them, Etta. The Lord gave you a kind heart and a sharp mind. It would be a shame to waste them on Ida Clark’s many imagined aches and pains.”

  “What I can’t understand is why I’ve suddenly received the attention of two men. I went years without attracting more than polite greetings.”

  “But that’s when you were still hiding from life. Remember how Catherine used to encourage you to attend the young people’s group at church?”

  Etta frowned and pressed her lips together. “I’m too old for that group.”

  “No, you’re not. That was just an excuse to hide. And whenever you went to horse shows, your mother practically had to make you attend the dances.”

  Etta shifted in the hard wooden chair. Sara’s depiction of her was right on the money, and Etta didn’t like it one bit. “I was afraid no one would ask me to dance.”

  “Did that ever happen?”

  “Not really. I never was the belle of the ball, but I was never a wallflower, either.”

  “That’s what I’m saying. You never gave any of the young gentlemen a chance to know you.”

  Etta propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. “I never thought of it that way before, but you’re right. I was hiding.”

  “Now that you’ve been forced to step into the spotlight, people are seeing you for who you really are.”

  “And who would that be?”

  “A lovely, intelligent, brave woman who refuses to let the world beat her down.”

  Etta thought about her earlier tears in the conference room. “I don’t know about that. You should have seen me at today’s board meeting.”

  “What happened?”

  “Remember when I told you about someone stealing from the bank?”

  “Of course. Did you find out who it was?”

  “It was Uncle Carl.”

  Sara fell back in her chair and slowly shook her head. “I wish I could say I was surprised.”

  “Do you know something I don’t?”

  “Your mother and father quarreled about Carl working at the bank.”

  “Papa didn’t want to hire Carl?”

  “No, your mother didn’t want him to hire Carl. Your uncle lost his job in San Antonio because he was suspected of overcharging the customers and pocketing the extra money. He was given a choice—either leave town or face an investigation.”

  Why hadn’t her parents told her? She would have seen Carl in a different light if she’d known about his past. “I never knew he was in trouble with the law.”

  “Carl was a few years ahead of Catherine and me in school. He was always a troublemaker, always looked for the easy way out. Catherine knew what kind of person her brother was, and she didn’t want Henry to give him a position that had anything to do with money.”

  “But Papa hired him anyway. I kept hoping I was wrong about Uncle Carl, but when I’d gathered enough evidence, I gave it to William.”

  “And what did our county prosecutor do?”

  “He confronted Carl at today’s board meeting.”

  Sara rolled her eyes. “That must have been quite a show.”

  A painful tightness constricted Etta’s throat, as if the words were too distressing to say. “It was awful, Sara. The sheriff took Carl to jail.”

  “Oh, Etta.” Sara wrapped her hands around Etta’s forearm. “I’m so sorry you had to go through all that. Does your papa know?”

  “Not yet. I was going to tell him, but he was napping when I got home. To tell you the truth, I’m afraid of what the news will do to him. He’ll want to know how I let this happen.”

  Sara lowered her chin and looked at Etta. “I think you’ve got your calendar a little mixed up.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Didn’t you tell me the records showed the funds had been stolen over a long period of time?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then Carl started stealing while your father was still in charge. You stopped the thief, Etta. If it weren’t for you…”

  Sara was right again. Why hadn’t Etta realized Carl had started stealing while her father was overseeing the bank’s daily operations? “Do you think Papa will see it that way?”

  Sara fisted her hands on her hips. “If he doesn’t, I’ll march right over there and give him a piece of my mind.”

  Etta chuckled in spite of herself. “Papa wouldn’t like that.”

  “I’m sure he wouldn’t. But…” Sara stood. “I have something he will like.” Sara left the kitchen but returned a few seconds later with a blue-and-white quilt draped across one shoulder.

  Warmth spread through Etta’s chest. “Oh, Sara. It’s so beautiful. I never imagined. How can I ever thank you?”

  Sara smiled and folded the quilt into a neat rectangle. “No thanks necessary. We were happy to finish it for Catherine.”

  “Will you give me a list of the ladies who worked on it? I’d like to write them a note.”

  “That would tickle them pink.”

  Etta took the quilt from Sara and lightly touched the patchwork. Her mother’s stitches, her stitches, and the stitches of her mother’s friends. Each stitch a prayer. Each stitch an act of love. Etta laid her head on the quilt and let the love seep into her. “I miss Momma so much. She used to say that the world was filled with a thousand little blessings, and it was up to us to find them. I wonder what blessing she’d see in everything that’s happened during the last few months.”

  Sara sat next to Etta and stroked her hair. “Oh, I don’t know. A husband who’s getting better every day and a daughter who’s grown into a strong, capable woman?”

  Tears filled Etta’s eyes again, but this time they were not tears of anger or sadness.

  Sara caught a tear with her fingertip and smiled warmly at Etta. “You’re one of those thousand little blessings, Etta. You’re a blessing to your family, to the people who work at the bank, and to everyone who knows you.”

  Etta buried her face in the quilt and gave thanks for Sara’s friendship. Later, she’d make sure to find time to thank the Lord for every blessing He’d given her through this difficult time.

  15

  “Your papa is waiting for you in the dining room,” Rosa said as soon as Etta returned home. “Oh, is that your momma’s quilt?”

  “Isn’t it beautiful?” Etta passed the quilt to Rosa and stepped to the sink to wash her hands. “I’m going to give it to Papa tonight.”

  Rosa examined the top-most quilt square. “You did a good thing, mija. It’s not as good as having your momma here, but now your papa can wrap himself on cold nights and remember her love. Later, you can put it on your children’s beds and your grandchildren’s beds. Your momma’s love going from generation to generation.”

  Etta’s heart swelled with emotion. Her mother’s quilt would be as warm as a good-night kiss. Like the sun’s rays, the pure, sweet love would go on and on.

  “Now,” Rosa said, handing Etta a towel, “dry your hands and join your father in the dining room. I’ll bring the food.”

  Etta held out her arms and Rosa passed the quilt back to her. Eating in the formal dining room had been one of her mother’s traditions. Breakfast and lunch were usually eaten in the kitchen, but dinner was always served with candlelight on the polished mahogany table. Since her father’s stroke, Etta had shared the evening meal with him in his bedroom. Reinstating her mother’s tradition was yet another sign of his recovery.

  “Evening, Papa,” Etta said as she kissed his cheek. “You’re looking well.”

  He smiled crookedly, the right side of his face still unable to move a
s well as the left.

  “I have a gift for you.” Etta sat in the cushioned chair on her father’s right. “Do you remember the quilt I was working on? The one Momma started?”

  Henry nodded.

  “Sara Benson and the ladies from the sewing circle finished it for me.” Etta spread the quilt on her lap. “It’s for you, Papa. I prayed every night as I sewed the squares together. I asked the Lord to help you recuperate. Your recovery shows me those prayers were answered.”

  Henry reached across the table with his left arm and gently touched the quilt. His eyes shone with unshed tears and his mouth opened and closed as though he struggled to form words.

  “Lov…” He paused, closed his eyes, and tried again. “Love…ly.”

  The invisible weight that Etta had borne for such a long time lifted from her shoulders. She knelt next to her father’s chair and laid her head on his knee. “I miss Momma so much, Papa. I’d bring her back if I could.” Etta swallowed the sob that threatened to escape her aching throat.

  Her father’s dry palm caressed the crown of Etta’s head. “Thank…you…Etta.”

  Etta turned her face toward his. Through the prism of her unshed tears, her father’s face seemed younger and healthier.

  Rosa entered the dining room, a tray with two bowls in her hands. “What’s this? Nobody wants to eat tonight?”

  Etta stood and refolded the quilt. “I do. What’s for dinner?”

  Rosa set the bowls on the table. “We start with corn chowder. You still like that, don’t you?”

  “Of course,” Etta answered.

  Rosa tucked the tray under her arm and reached for the quilt. “Give me that beautiful coverlet. I’ll put it on Mr. Henry’s bed.”

  “Thank you,” Etta answered.

  “Now eat, mija. You’re too skinny!”

  Etta grinned at her father as Rosa bustled out of the dining room. “Does she boss you around as much as she does me?”

  Henry shook his head. “Rosa…no. Charlie…yes.”

  Etta laughed softly. It was such a relief to have a conversation with her father again. “Did Mr. Simpson tell you he’d asked Rosa to marry him?”

  “Yes.”

  “I assured Rosa I’d find a job for Charlie for as long as he wanted one. I hope that’s all right with you.”

  Her father’s face was expressionless, but after several seconds he said, “Good…idea.”

  While they ate in silence, Etta tried to disregard her father’s sometimes clumsy attempts to get the soup from the bowl to his mouth. If their situations were reversed, she’d cringe if he tried to feed her or criticized her efforts to feed herself. Surely, the Golden Rule fit this situation as well as it fit every other aspect of her life.

  Rosa cleared away the empty bowls and served them pork chops with macaroni salad. She had cut the meat into bite-sized pieces for Henry. He grasped the fork with his left hand and scooped up a bite of salad.

  As much as she hated to ruin the contented feeling that flowed between them, she needed to tell her father about the embezzlement. “There’s something else I have to tell you, Papa. About the bank.”

  Henry rested his fork beside his plate and looked at her expectantly.

  Etta’s mouth was suddenly dry. She sipped from her glass of ice water and took a deep breath. “Several weeks ago, Arthur Lewis brought a problem to my attention.”

  Her father nodded but did not try to utter a word.

  “Since becoming loan manager, Mr. Lewis has been recording payments in his own ledger. He noticed that several clients were in arrears and sent them reminder notices.”

  Henry nodded again. He was following her story with no trouble.

  “But the clients came in with receipts, showing the payments had been made. Then some money went missing from the tellers’ drawers.”

  Henry frowned for the first time, and Etta hastened to explain. “I looked into the books and realized that either there was a mistake or someone was stealing. Right away, I called the Worthington accounting firm in Austin to have the books audited. They sent George Owens.”

  “Good,” Henry said slowly. “Good.”

  “George found that the farm and ranch loans were missing several thousand dollars. That information, plus the discrepancy in Mr. Lewis’s ledger, led me to believe that someone was intercepting loan payments. I drove out to visit our clients, and I discovered that Uncle Carl had been collecting their payments.”

  The tips of her father’s ears turned red, and his hand fisted on the table. “Carl…took…?”

  “I’m afraid so, Papa. I turned the information over to William Clark, and he completed the investigation. He found a young woman in Austin who is Carl’s friend. Carl opened a bank account in her name. William thinks that almost all of the missing funds are in that account.”

  The dishes rattled as her father pounded the table with his fist. “Carl? Carl?”

  “I’ll ask William Clark to come out and talk to you. He can explain the legal side better than I.”

  Henry rubbed his head with his left hand and moaned.

  Alarm darted through Etta’s body. Was it too much for him? Should she have waited?

  Henry lowered his arm and clenched his jaw. “I…I should have…”

  Etta wrapped her hand around his forearm. “It’s all right now, Papa. The problem has been resolved, and Carl is in jail. It won’t take long for our investments to bring in enough to cover any losses.”

  Henry shook his head. “Wait.” He obviously needed time. Time to process what she’d told him and time to recover from the shock.

  She sat quietly, moving the food around her plate and watching her father from the corner of her eye.

  Henry drank his water, dabbed at his chin with the linen napkin to dry the portion he’d spilled, and sat back in his chair. After several long breaths, he said, “Etta?”

  “Yes, Papa?”

  “Good…very good.”

  Etta’s heartbeat raced with joy. Her father approved of how she’d handled the problem. If his speech were restored, he might even have more praise. “Oh, Papa. I didn’t know what to do. I felt so betrayed and angry, and all I could think about was what would Papa do if he were here?”

  Henry reached across the table and covered her hand with his. “You did right…Etta.”

  Etta squeezed her father’s hand. “Thank you, Papa.”

  “Now eat,” he said with another crooked smile. “Too…skinny.”

  Their shared laughter rang through the silent dining room.

  Everything was going to be all right just like her mother always told her.

  ****

  At dawn the next day, Etta retrieved the flat basket and small pruning shears her mother used for collecting flowers and walked to the garden. Her mother’s yellow roses bloomed abundantly along the perimeter of the flower beds and purple larkspur and irises pushed their way toward the sun. Every season produced a different palette of blooms, but spring was definitely when the garden strove to be its most flamboyant.

  Etta clipped several blossoms and placed them in the basket. Her mother’s garden was yet another way her love outlasted her earthly life. Like the quilt, the garden could bestow love for many generations.

  Once satisfied that she had enough, Etta headed to the hill where the Davis family cemetery was located. The pink evening primrose still adorned the land, but the other wildflowers were beginning to fade. They’ll be back next spring. Like every other cycle of life, there was no way to hurry it and no way to stop it.

  The wrought-iron gate at the top of the hill squeaked as Etta opened it. She knelt beside her mother’s grave and placed some flowers beside her headstone. The inscription was perfect. Beloved wife, mother, and friend. Life was all about love. Love of family, friends, even enemies.

  “I miss you, Momma,” Etta said in a soft voice. “I know you’re not really here, but I miss talking with you.”

  A curious mockingbird landed on a nearby fencepost and t
ilted its head to get a good look at Etta. “Shouldn’t you be hunting a juicy bug for breakfast?” she asked with a smile.

  In response, the bird flew to a low-hanging branch of an oak tree and began to sing its own joyful greeting to the dawn. At times like these, when all seemed right with the world, Etta’s heart filled with gratitude. Life really was full of blessings. If only she could remember to look for them every day.

  Etta closed her eyes and raised her face to the sky. “Thank You, Lord,” she began. “Thank You for giving me such a wonderful mother. Thank You for Papa’s health. Thank You for Sara and Nora and everyone else who has helped me during the last few months.” She took a few deep breaths and let the scent of clean earth and morning air fill her body.

  “I don’t know what to say about Uncle Carl,” Etta continued, “but I know he’ll need You to comfort and guide him. If he did wrong, he will suffer the consequences, but I don’t want him to suffer more than is necessary.” She’d be happy if Carl returned the money and disappeared from their lives, but would he learn his lesson?

  “Please remember Gabriel, Lord. I hope he will be healed of the grief and guilt he carries with him. If he’s the man meant for me, let me know, and if he’s not the right one…then help me accept it.” Invisible bands of longing wrapped around Etta’s chest. She couldn’t forget the gentleness of Gabriel’s touch and the strength of his arms. Had she misunderstood her own feelings? Was it merely her inexperience that led her to believe her future was linked with his?

  She touched her mother’s headstone and got to her feet, the mockingbird continuing its serenade as she made her way down the hill.

  ****

  Gabriel gathered pink wildflowers on his way to Etta’s house. It was too early to call on her, but he was afraid he’d already waited too long. As he crossed the footbridge over Hamilton Creek, he saw her.

  As it always did, his heart fluttered at the sight of her. The morning sun silhouetted her body as she ambled down the hill, a basket hanging from the crook of her elbow. She was surrounded by a halo, as though her goodness could not be contained within her body. Before he could decide whether to call out to her, Etta noticed him. She stopped, apparently trying to decide if she should speak to him or go to her house.