Land Of Promise

by Cox, Carol

  “All I had to do was sell myself—no, allow myself to be sold. Isn’t that right?” She searched their faces and found confirmation. “My mother worried about my living in the midst of ruffians and cutthroats. When she said that, she had no idea I’d be living under their very roof. This is barbaric!”

  “That will do, young lady!” Richard thundered. He pointed a trembling finger straight at Elizabeth’s face. “I will not have you speak to either my wife or me with disrespect.”

  Elizabeth pushed his hand aside. “How dare you speak of disrespect! This country just endured years of war to end the abominable practice of people being bought and sold like commodities.”

  “You can talk, can’t you?” Letitia stood and joined Richard. “You’ve never experienced want a day in your life. You have no idea what it means to have everything stripped away from you, then have one chance to turn it all around again. And then see it snatched away by an arrogant chit of a girl.” Her face darkened, then twisted with anger. “Get out! I won’t have you in my home another day!”

  Elizabeth held her gaze, chest heaving. “Very well. I’ll be only too happy to leave this place.” Without another word, she swept out of the kitchen.

  It took little time to jam her belongings back into her trunk and carpetbag. She set the carpetbag on the front porch, then returned for the trunk. With clenched teeth, she tugged at the handle, dragging it across the floor with a screech she knew would set Letitia’s teeth on edge.

  Out on the porch, she closed the front door with a bang. After a pause to catch her breath, she picked up her carpetbag and prepared to set out and realized she hadn’t the least idea where she should go.

  Wagons creaked along the dusty roads. Children called back and forth from neighboring yards. The pound of hammers resounded from building sites. The town teemed with activity, but none of it related to her.

  The carpetbag weighed heavy at the end of her arm. She had dreamed of one day leaving this house to venture out on her own, but she’d planned to have a destination in mind when that day arrived.

  Perhaps a boardinghouse. Of course. One that accepted ladies. And she had spotted just such a place on one of her jaunts around town. Mrs. Keller’s establishment would fit the bill nicely.

  She set off toward Cortez Street, the carpetbag bumping against her leg with every step. Surely Mrs. Keller would know someone she could send after the trunk. If not, she would come back and drag it every inch of the way there herself.

  Elizabeth strode south on Cortez, revising her carefully laid plans. Her agenda had been to order stock and locate a site before moving out, but she could adjust her plans to compensate.

  She would get settled in her new lodgings this morning. If she could inspect the properties she had in mind in the afternoon, she might be able to finalize the purchase of her new property within the week.

  She came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the street, bringing a squawk of protest from the driver of a freight wagon.

  Her money still rested in Richard’s strongbox. The little she carried in her reticule might pay for a few nights’ lodging but would hardly serve to strike a business deal.

  She had no desire to return to the Bartletts’ home. But she had no choice. Turning around, she retraced her steps. She started up the front porch steps, then paused. It would be all too easy for the Bartletts to ignore her knock. Very well, she wouldn’t give them the opportunity.

  She set the carpetbag down at the foot of the steps and hurried around the house to the kitchen door. Turning the knob, she stepped inside.

  Letitia’s eyes bulged. “How dare you enter this house without knocking!”

  Elizabeth held her ground. “I’m only here to collect the last of my things.” She turned to Richard. “The money I gave you for safekeeping. If you’ll just get it for me, I’ll be on my way.”

  Both the Bartletts froze. Richard’s face darkened, while Letitia turned pale. Now what? Whatever response she’d anticipated, she hadn’t foreseen anything like this.

  Richard’s high color faded to a pasty gray. Elizabeth reached out to him, fearing he was about to collapse.

  “Pull a chair up behind him, quickly,” Letitia ordered. She fluttered next to her husband and helped him into the chair Elizabeth brought.

  “Is there anything I can get for him?” Elizabeth asked.

  Letitia stood with her hand on Richard’s shoulder and faced Elizabeth. “The best thing you can do for either of us is to leave. Right now.”

  “But my money. If you could just get that for me first—”

  “Gone,” Richard said in a hollow voice. “All gone. I lost it in a faro game.”

  “You. . .you lost my money? You gambled it away?”

  “Only part of it at first.” He stared at a point on the wall across the room. “Thought I could win it back and return it all before you ever knew it was gone. But I hit an unlucky streak. The cards took it all. Every bit of it.”

  “That money was mine! You stole it. I’m going straight to the sheriff’s office.”

  “It won’t do you any good.” Richard’s eyes had lost their glassy look. “You don’t have a receipt for it. It’ll be your word against mine.”

  “But. . .you stole it.”

  “Don’t talk to us about stealing after what you’ve done.” Letitia’s voice shook. “You’ve cost us far more than that. Now get out of this house, and don’t come back.”

  In a daze, Elizabeth returned to the porch for her carpetbag and headed back to Cortez Street.

  ❧

  “Here I am, Lord, on my own. No one to rely on but myself. And You, of course. That’s just what I asked for, isn’t it?”

  Elizabeth perched gingerly on the narrow bed’s thin mattress and surveyed her new domain. The trunk, delivered by Mrs. Keller’s handyman, took up most of the floor space. At the foot of the bed, a rickety table held a chipped basin and pitcher. A plain wooden chair sat against the opposite wall under a row of pegs to hold whatever clothing wouldn’t fit in the narrow dresser. She would have to leave most of her belongings folded in her trunk.

  Elizabeth edged between the bed and the trunk toward the tiny window. Her weight on the floorboards sent the basin and pitcher to vibrating.

  “Somehow this isn’t quite the way I’d envisioned it, Father. I’m supposed to be conquering new worlds, not hiding out in a cramped little room wondering how I’ll manage once my money’s gone.”

  Amazing, the difference twenty-four hours could make. Yesterday she had been happily planning her future. Today she had gone from that to learning she’d been brought out here as merchandise to being cast out, alone and penniless.

  Feeling sorry for herself wouldn’t do a bit of good. There had to be something she could do, a job of some sort to help her get back on her feet. But what? She thought of the saloons lining Whiskey Row, the last resort of more than one woman left on her own.

  No. Never that. She’d starve first.

  In better times, she could have written to her father. He wouldn’t hesitate to send her money to tide her over. If he had it himself. Which he didn’t.

  She could appeal to Virginia and her fiancé. The very thought twisted her stomach.

  Stop it! There had to be a way, something she wasn’t seeing yet. Even Carrie had shown more spirit, looking forward to God’s provision like a child who fully expected her Father to live up to His promise.

  All right, then. Did she think God’s arm was too short to extend to Arizona Territory? She had to shake off this panic and get a grip on her emotions.

  She could start by arranging her room. Once she put that small space in order, she’d be in a better frame of mind to plan her next move.

  The dresser filled quickly. Elizabeth hung most of her dresses from the pegs on the wall. She reached into the trunk for her heavy flannel nightgown, then put it back. The nights had been growing warmer, and this room promised to be downright stuffy. Where had she packed her lighter gown?

&nbs
p; She found it squashed flat in the bottom of the trunk. No matter. No one would see her wearing it. Something clinked when she pulled it out.

  Elizabeth bent to investigate. A gold double eagle nestled against the lining. She remembered having to retie the strings when she pulled the second bag of money out to give to Richard. This piece must have fallen out then. But one wouldn’t clink by itself. She pushed aside her clothes and found two more.

  The three coins lay in the palm of her hand. Sixty dollars, the remnant of her fortune. Each coin carried the new motto: In God We Trust.

  A slow smile spread across Elizabeth’s face. “Okay, Lord, it’s a start. Let’s find out what You’re going to do next.” She placed the coins in her reticule and descended the narrow stairs.

  “I’m going out for a bit, Mrs. Keller.”

  “Really, Dear, you don’t need to check in with me every time you leave.” Her landlady’s cheerful countenance added to the resurgence of Elizabeth’s confidence.

  Elizabeth set her face to the north and walked up Cortez, feeling a shiver of anticipation run up her arms. God had promised to provide. He owned the cattle on a thousand hills; the wealth of the universe was His. Surely He could meet the needs of one young woman.

  She paused at the corner and waited for a buggy to pass before she crossed Goodwin Street. “We walk by faith and not by sight, Lord,” she murmured. “Guide my steps and show me the way.”

  Hurrying across in the buggy’s wake, she stopped again on the opposite corner. A pair of miners hovered nearby, leaning against a loaded wagon.

  “If you’re sure we’ve got everything, we can head back to the claim,” one said, climbing to the wagon seat.

  A spasm of frustration clenched at Elizabeth’s stomach. If all had gone according to plan, those same miners would have been her customers, purchasing their goods from her store.

  “Guess we’ve got everything on the list,” the second miner replied. He scratched his stomach with a grimy hand. “Only one thing I’d like to have and can’t, and that’s a cherry pie.”

  “Or peach pie, or apple pie. Or even an applesauce cake. Old George Bernard makes a mean venison chili, but I haven’t had decent baked goods since I left St. Louis.” The bearded man shook his head mournfully and climbed up beside his partner. With a shake of the reins, he started their wagon down the street.

  Elizabeth stared after them. Baked goods? She’d never considered the need for those before, but she could turn out as fine a pie crust as any baker. Her only domestic accomplishment, her mother called it.

  If those miners wanted baked goods, then baked goods she could give them. All she needed were equipment, ingredients, and a place to do her baking.

  “I don’t have any of those, Lord. What are we going to do about that? Oh, and a place to sell them would be helpful, too.”

  She proceeded north on Cortez, skirting around a cluster of men standing on the edge of an empty lot.

  “You’re really pulling out for good, Bill?”

  A barrel-chested man nodded. “I came with all these grand ideas of making enough to get a new start, but they’ve all come to nothing. Guess I’m just not cut out to be a miner. It’s time for me to go back to farming and making harnesses.”

  “Sorry to see that happen,” his friend replied. “This would have been a nice place for a saddle shop.”

  Elizabeth’s steps slowed, and she stopped, eavesdropping shamelessly.

  “It’s yours, if you want it,” Bill said. “I just want what I paid for it. That’ll get me the rest of what I need to head out.”

  “Excuse me.” The group parted as Elizabeth marched up to the one called Bill. “Did I understand you to say you’re selling a piece of property here?”

  “This very lot we’re standing in front of,” he said. “I’m bound for Kansas as soon as I get rid of it.”

  “How much do you want for it?” She ignored the snickers behind her.

  The brawny man grinned. “Lady, I paid forty dollars for this piece when they auctioned the first lots in ’64. If I can get that back, I’ll be on my way.”

  Forty dollars. Two-thirds the sum total of her worldly goods.

  “Would you accept half now and half later? I’d be happy to have papers drawn up to that effect.”

  “Twenty dollars now and twenty more by the end of the week, and the place will be yours. Let’s go find one of the lawyers here to write up a quitclaim deed.”

  Two hours later, Elizabeth burst into the boardinghouse. “Mrs. Keller, may I use your oven? And some of your pie pans?”

  Mrs. Keller looked up from setting lunch on the table. “I don’t see any reason why not.” She smiled at Elizabeth’s exuberance.

  “Bless you! The delivery boy is bringing flour, lard, and dried fruit from the market. I’ll get started making pies as soon as I change my dress. I’m going to open a bakery, Mrs. Keller. If I hurry, I just might make my first sale today!”

  ❧

  “Pies for sale.”

  The hastily lettered sign hung from a plank stretched across two empty wooden crates. Steam rose from the six apple pies set out on the crude counter.

  Elizabeth pulled her handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her forehead. After the breakneck pace of the last few hours, she felt drained. Drained, and yet energized.

  She squinted into the late afternoon sun. People strolled around the plaza. A number of miners were headed for Whiskey Row. In another hour or two, she would know whether she had made a solid business decision or thrown her money away.

  “At least this lot is mine. Even if nothing comes of the bakery, I still have enough to pay what I owe on it. I’ll have an investment in the property, if nothing else.”

  “Talking to yourself?”

  Elizabeth looked up into a pair of merry blue eyes. “Mr. O’Roarke. Would you like to buy a pie?”

  “I was drawn in equal parts by the delectable aroma and the opportunity to talk to the best conversationalist in Arizona Territory. Even if she’s already talking to herself.” The skin crinkled at the corners of his eyes when he smiled. Elizabeth found herself smiling back.

  “As I live and breathe, I did smell apple pie.” A man appeared at the edge of Elizabeth’s lot and hurried to the makeshift counter. “I’ll take this one. No, make it two.” He reached in his pocket.

  “This one is already taken.” Michael scooped up the nearest one. “It looks like business is booming.” He gave her a wink that shot a surge of delight right through her.

  “Thank you. And you, Sir.” Elizabeth beamed at her other customer.

  “Is this a onetime sale, or will you be back again?” he asked.

  Elizabeth looked at her three remaining pies, then at the group of men heading her way from the plaza. “The Capital Bakery will be open for business tomorrow.” She grinned at Michael and squared her shoulders. “And for a long time after that.”

  Thirteen

  Elizabeth put up her hand to shield her eyes from the bright noontime sun shining down on the plaza area. Soon, she would have to put up an awning to protect her from its heat. Today, though, the dazzling rays reflected her own sunny mood.

  After selling out her entire inventory her first day in business, she had invested her proceeds in more ingredients and some pie tins. She sold out again the following day. And the next, and the next. Capital Bakery had become an overnight success. She had enough to pay Bill Wilson the remainder of what she owed on the lot and some left over besides.

  Elizabeth breathed a prayer of thanks and smiled at the customers heading her way. The miners had turned out to be her biggest advertisers, spreading the news about her wares throughout the community.

  Elizabeth chuckled. Miners had been her intended customers from the beginning. Only her wares had changed. “You knew it all the time, didn’t You, Lord?”

  She watched a group of three miners who had just bought a pie together split it into chunks and begin eating. Maybe she could add a few tables and chai
rs, give them a place to sit, and sell it by the slice. It would make good advertising, as well as more profit.

  “A penny for your thoughts.”

  “Add some more and you can buy a pie. I’m sure it would be tastier than my thoughts.”

  Michael shook his head. “I’m equally sure it wouldn’t. Your thinking is very fresh and just as delightful to the senses.” Michael leaned over to savor the aroma of each pie. “But the conversation would be even better accompanied by some of that peach pie.”

  Elizabeth grinned and handed it to him. “And what would you like to discuss today? The Indian problem, perhaps, or the suffrage issue?”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of whether a certain bakery proprietor would like to go with me to C. C. Bean’s Bible study.”

  “It sounds wonderful.” Her shoulders drooped. “But I don’t see how I can.”

  “Oh?”

  “Mrs. Keller has been wonderful about letting me use her oven, but I can’t be in the way when she’s cooking for her boarders. The only way I’ve been able to produce pies in this quantity is to work in the kitchen at night.”

  Michael let out a low whistle. “I never thought about what you had to do to make this many.” His brow wrinkled. “But you’re here from late morning on. When do you sleep?”

  She gave him a tired smile. “I catch a nap while the last pies are baking, and I rest a little more before I come down here, then try not to think about it the rest of the time.” She laced her fingers together and stretched her arms in front of her, then rolled her head from side to side to work the kinks out of her neck.

  An evening discussing the Bible with Michael did sound good. But as long as she had to stay up baking all night and selling pies all day, it was a luxury she couldn’t afford.

  Michael’s forehead puckered. “What would it take to put up a building here so you could bake at your convenience?”

  Elizabeth stared. “I’ve been so focused on getting started, I haven’t thought much further than just the moment at hand.” She stepped out to the street and turned back to survey her property.

  Could she do it? The thought of putting up her own building made her giddy.