It doesn’t matter what he thinks. Harriet tried to finish the line she’d been working on when she was interrupted. But she did care, and Ant’s disapproval had dammed up her creative flow.
Being around him doesn’t bode well for my future poetry efforts.
* * *
Ant walked up the steps of the whitewashed brick bank that had a barred window on either side of the entrance, turned the handle of the door with Livingston’s Boston Bank painted in black letters across it, and stepped through. He took off his hat, closed the door behind him, and hung it on a rack, from which dangled a shapeless brown hat and a black bowler.
An elderly, balding clerk, perched behind a wooden counter looked up from writing something, his faded blue eyes widening as his gaze kept traveling upward to Ant’s face. “May I help you?”
“I’m here to see Mr. Livingston.”
“May I tell him who’s calling?”
“Anthony Gordon.”
The clerk laid down his pen, rose, and went to an inner door, where he tapped three times, and then went inside, closing it behind him. He reappeared almost immediately and said, “Mr. Livingston will see you, Sir.”
Ant stepped into the office and closed the door behind him. A gilded cage holding three finches caught his attention. Wouldn’t have thought Livingston was the type to have birds.
Livingston, sitting behind a desk spread with papers, rose and walked around to shake his hand. “Mr. Gordon, how can I help you?” He gestured for Ant to take a seat on the wooden chair in front of his desk, then walked back behind it and sat down.
Ant admired a seascape hanging behind the banker before bringing his attention back to Livingston. “Wanted to talk to you about putting up an office building.”
“Heard you were going to start a newspaper.”
“Been thinking I might want to expand a bit. Build something big enough for the paper, and have some space to rent to others. Wanted to know if you think that would be a viable concern.”
Livingston tapped his index finger on a stack of papers. “I’m planning on building a hotel. Guests shouldn’t have to stay at Widow Murphy’s. She’s enough to drive them out of town.”
“So I’ve experienced,” Ant said in a wry tone.
The banker gave him a faint smile of acknowledgement. “I want people to stay—do business here. We need to expand the town.”
“Also be good for families driving in from farms and ranches that are more than a day’s drive from town. They can stay overnight.”
Livingston nodded in approval. “Exactly.”
“How fast can a building go up around here?”
“Depends on how much money you want to throw at it.”
“I have money, but the venture will probably come close to tapping me out. What do you think of such an investment?”
“Are you looking for a loan?”
“No. Just advice.”
The banker sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers, obviously thinking. Silence stretched out. “Sweetwater Springs is a growing town. I think you’d be able to attract tenants. And...there might be a way we could combine forces to our mutual benefit.”
Ant’s interest quickened. “What do you have in mind?”
“If we build at the same time, we can use the same architect, workers, masons. Place bigger orders for wood and stone and other materials and get cheaper prices.”
Ant straightened in his chair. “We could have a uniformity of design that would enhance the look of the town.”
“Exactly what I was thinking.”
“Don’t know if you’ve been to South Dakota, Minnesota, or Iowa, Livingston, but they have a stone in that area that’s mighty attractive. Sioux Quartzite, a pinky brown stone they’re using as building facades. Different from brick. Fits a Western look, yet still looks elegant.”
Livingston frowned in thought and then slowly nodded several times. “I believe I’ve seen what you’re talking about. Didn’t pay those buildings too much attention at the time, but now that you mention it, that stone would work just fine. Provided it’s not too expensive.”
“It’s practically local. Should be cheaper than importing limestone and marble, not that I’d intended marble, anyway.”
“I’d love to build a marble bank, but it’s just not practical here. I do hope to expand the bank someday, though, when this country’s out of a recession.” Livingston reached into a drawer of his desk and pulled out a folded paper. He spread the map of the town out across the desk and turned it so Ant could see.
Ant studied the drawing, picking out the mercantile, church, schoolhouse, bank, saloons, and some other businesses. The grid spread far beyond the main street to encompass the whole area. It would take a lot more settlers to fill the spaces.
Caleb pointed one finger at a spot near the railroad next to the mercantile. “Here’s where I’m considering building the hotel. Make it easy for people heading West to stop for the evening, instead of staying on the train all the way through. The train noise will be a nuisance, though.”
Ant tapped the other side of the railroad. “You haven’t built up this side of the town?”
“Not yet.” Livingston slid his finger to the other side of the mercantile. “Here’s an empty lot. You could claim it. It’s next to a saloon, which should provide you with easy access to news.”
Ant looked up at the banker, not sure if he’d made a joke. Since Livingston didn’t crack a smile, Ant decided he hadn’t.
“Unfortunately, the mercantile is brick, and I don’t see the Cobbs as willing to change the façade.”
“Maybe we can talk to Mack about adding a façade to the livery,” Ant joked, wanting to see if the banker had a sense of humor. Always easier to do business with a man who can laugh. “That might cause the Cobbs to make some changes.”
Livingston actually cracked a smile.
Ant relaxed a bit. “If we’re going to dream, how about turning the church into a cathedral and giving the Nortons a bigger parsonage. Miss Stanton would probably love a two-story schoolhouse, and Red Charlie could use a fancy blacksmith shop.”
“You are a dreamer, Mr. Gordon.”
“More of a joker.”
Livingston drummed the fingers of his right hand on his desk, seemed to come to a decision, and stilled his hand. “I already have an appointment with the architect who designed the Sanders’ house for two days from now. Do you want to join us? Give you a chance to meet the man. We can talk about our ideas.”
Ant stood. “I’ll take you up on that.”
The two men shook hands. As Ant put his hat on and walked down the steps to the street, he wondered if he’d gotten himself in over his head. This venture could be a gold mine, could be a sinkhole. Hopefully, it will average out somewhere in the middle.
* * *
Harriet and David wandered from the house to the stream, where a large, flat boulder made the perfect place to sit. But today, they didn’t linger, instead traipsing along the banks. Cottonwood, beech, and adder trees shaded their passage, and the gurgling of the water accompanied their nature lesson.
David stepped into a shaft of sunlight that bathed him in a golden glow and gave an amber cast to his eyes. Already, he’d put on weight. His angled face had filled out some, and his body had changed, losing the painful thinness he’d first had, although he still looked far too slender. Leaning against a tree, a pensive expression on his face, he reached up and fingered a leaf.
“You look like a dryad. Or you would if you were browner … or greener.”
He gave her a puzzled look.
“Dryads are fairies who live in trees. They need to stay close to their tree, and if it dies, so do they.” Harriet thought for a moment, wrinkling her forehead. She hastily smoothed out her expression. “Actually, I don’t think there are male dryads. At least not in any of the stories I’ve read. However, there must be.” Her voice turned playful. “And maybe you are one. But you need leaves in your hair.” She pluc
ked some from the tree and poked them through his hair.
He grinned and gave the tree a hug.
“We’ll need to do some research. We’ll ask your Uncle Ant to order us some books that have dryads in them.”
David released the tree, and they continued downstream. Harriet pointed out birds, plants, and insects. She stopped to touch the yellow center of a pink wood rose. “See David, the petals of the wood rose are flat, not like the roses in the garden.”
He followed the line of her finger with his, touching a delicate petal. With a change of mood, he skipped ahead through the stand of trees.
Harriet followed. “Look.” She waved at a pool, formed by a low dam, and shaded by majestic cottonwoods. “The perfect place to go wading. What do you think? Do you want to take off your stockings and boots?”
David nodded, his eyes alight.
Harriet sat on a rock and watched.
The boy scrambled out of his boots and socks, rolled up his pant legs. He didn’t even check the temperature of the water, just waded in. He explored the pool, moving rocks to make a higher dam. The more he played, the wetter his clothes became. But Harriet, enjoying the sight of him just being a normal lad, didn’t say anything. He’ll dry off quickly enough in the sun.
After about an hour, Harriet called for David to come out of the water and dry off.
He looked disappointed but obeyed, climbing out of the water and throwing himself on the grassy ground near her.
“David, are you ready to talk to me?”
He tilted his head, obviously thinking, and then shrugged. He dropped his head down on his arms.
Although disappointed, Harriet didn’t pursue the topic. He’ll speak when he’s ready. But she couldn’t help wondering when that would be.
* * *
Ant rode through the gathering dusk that purpled the sky and cast blue shadows around him. The smell of night-blooming flowers drifted on the breeze, although, deep in thought, he barely noticed.
Ant went over his list, mentally ticking off everything he’d set out to do in the week since he’d bought the house. Furniture for the house ordered and delivered. Tick. A new buggy ordered. Should be here next week. Tick. A mare or gelding to pull the buggy and for Harriet to ride. Tick. A linotype machine ordered. Tick. The building he’d temporarily use for an office cleaned and renovated. Tick. Rough draft plans drawn up for the office, building materials ordered, and money transferred. Tick. Discussions with all the local business owners about placing advertisements in the paper, subscribing, or the design and production of advertising leaflets. Tick.
Now he had time until the equipment actually arrived that he could spend with David and Harriet. At that thought, he slowed Shadow down. He might have bit off more than he could chew when he’d hired Harriet. Her presence was all around his home, and he couldn’t escape his awareness of her. The scent of her lingered in the air of the house. Her voice soothed him as she read to David at night. He loved to see her pride as she presided at the foot of the table full of food she’d cooked.
The attraction he’d had for Harriet from the beginning had grown into what Ant had reluctantly realized was love. Living with her was more satisfying and torturous than he’d thought it would be. So he stayed away from the house. Neglected his nephew.
He had a good excuse, in that he was busy settling in, getting the business up and running. But he could have come home sooner most nights.
Now, he realized as he neared his property and saw the lights beckoning from the windows,
I’ve run out of excuses.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Harriet drove with Ant in the buggy, David between them, on the way to the Thompson ranch for Wyatt and Samantha’s wedding. The summer weather had gifted the couple with a perfect day—hot, but not too hot, and no trace of humidity. A brilliant blue sky arched over them and a slight breeze set the leaves in the trees quivering.
As they approached the big white house owned by Wyatt Thompson, Harriet couldn’t help but contrast her feelings about this wedding compared to Nick and Elizabeth’s last autumn. Back then she’d been dreading the event, even hoping it wouldn’t take place. Just remembering how she’d felt that day made her cringe with shame.
She squared her shoulders. But not today. She steadied the plate, holding the spice cake she’d baked on her lap. Harriet could only feel happy for Samantha and Wyatt, and even more so for their children, especially the misfit boys, who now were going to have both a father and a mother. Harriet was determined keep her composure throughout the day.
Ant drove the buggy over to the other group of vehicles. Before he’d even applied the brake, Daniel Rodriguez pelted over to them.
“David! You’re finally here!” He skidded to a stop at the side of the buggy and gave several jumps of excitement. “Hello, Miss Stanton. My mama’s getting married today.”
“I know, Daniel. You look happy about that.”
“’Lo, Mr. Gordon!” Daniel gave a bounce and waved at Ant. Another hop had him facing her. “I am, Miss Stanton. I am going to have a new pa. I won’t forget my papa, but Mama said Papa wouldn’t mind if I call Mr. Thompson Pa. And Jack and Tim and Little Feather are going to have a new pa, too.”
Gratitude welled up in Harriet for the horrid events of a few weeks ago leading to this special day. “You’re all going to be a complete family.” She handed the cake to Ant and gathered her skirts to climb down.
Quicksilver Daniel stilled his body for a few seconds, straightening his shoulders and raising an imperious hand to help her—the perfect miniature cavalier.
Harriet had to suppress her amusement. While Daniel didn’t often slow down enough to show it, the boy had been raised in Argentina with strict gentlemanly standards. Harriet enjoyed the rare moments when he appeared the Spanish grandee.
Ant gave her back the cake and took charge of the horse. After Harriet had warned David and Daniel not to get dirty, she mounted the steps leading to the front door of the house. Harriet walked through the double doors, inset with stained glass panels, walked a few steps to the second set of doors that would keep out the winter cold and into the entryway. She followed voices into the parlor. There she found Elizabeth, Pamela, and Mrs. Norton putting the finishing touches on the several bouquets of flowers in the room. The women exchanged greetings.
“Look, Harriet,” said Elizabeth, clad in a seafoam green gown with only the tiniest sign of her pregnancy showing, patted the top of an upright piano in the corner. “Wyatt had the piano tuned, so I’ll be able to play the ‘Wedding March.’”
“Wonderful.”
Mary Norton crossed the room to her and held out her hands for the cake. “Let me take that to the kitchen, Miss Stanton.”
Harriet relinquished the plate.
Reverend Norton, who wore his old frock coat despite the heat, stood looking out the window. He turned and exchanged a conspiratorial glance with Elizabeth.
Before Harriet could ponder what that look meant, the minister turned and greeted her.
“My dear Miss Stanton, I was just observing David Gordon with the other boys. A remarkable transformation you’ve achieved.”
“Thank you, Reverend Norton. However, just as much credit is due to his uncle.” Except for this last week when he seemed to have disappeared from David’s life.
“Is David talking yet?”
She thought back to their time by the river. “There’s been a few times when I thought he would. But so far, no.”
“Well, we’re praying for him.”
“Thank you, Reverend Norton.”
Pamela handed Harriet a bouquet of white roses, the stems tied with a light blue satin ribbon. “Harriet, why don’t you take these upstairs to Samantha. She’s in the first room on the right.”
Harriet accepted the flowers and inhaled their sweet scent. Then she went upstairs to knock on the door.
Samantha opened it, peeked out, and, when she realized it was Harriet, opened the door wide. “Harriet, c
ome in. I’ve been banished to this room, and I’m about to expire of excitement and boredom.”
Harriet walked in and the new bodice and skirt she’d been so proud of seemed drab next to Samantha’s dress. Her skirt seemed too dark.
Samantha’s gown was an ice blue silk so pale it was almost white, trimmed with satin ribbons a deeper blue. The color brightened Samantha’s cornflower eyes and brought out the milkiness of her skin. The lace-trimmed sleeves puffed even bigger than Harriet’s. Her auburn hair showed through the gossamer lace of the veil draped over her head and trailing down her back. She looked ethereal, like a fairy princess.
“Oh, Samantha,” Harriet’s words came out in a sigh. “When Wyatt catches sight of you, he just might drop to his knees and kiss the hem of your dress.”
Samantha laughed. “Not Wyatt. He didn’t even go down on one knee when he proposed.”
“Faint then,” Harriet teased. “Topple over like a tree.”
Samantha’s eyes danced. She gave a tiny shake of her head, so as not to disturb her veil.
Harriet tapped one finger to her chin, pretending to think. “Sweep you off your feet and carry you away.”
“Now that he might do. But not before we’re married. He’s been quite...eager....”
Harriet finished Samantha’s sentence. “He’s quite eager for tonight, when he has you alone.”
Peach color tinged Samantha’s cheeks. “I’m quite eager, too. I’m glad I’ve been married before so I know what to expect.” She grimaced. “I’m sorry, Harriet. I shouldn’t be having this conversation with you.”
“Because I’m a spinster.” Harriet’s words sounded more bitter than she’d intended.
Samantha looked distressed “Oh, Harriet, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“You didn’t. I’m usually happy with my state. It’s just that this week, with the changes…” Living in a new home with a man who makes me feel more uncomfortable each day....
“Are things not going smoothly with David?”
“David’s a love. He’ll talk soon. I just know it.”
Debra Holland Page 21