Daylight Comes

by Judith Miller

  Macia shrugged. She hadn’t considered the Faradays standoffish. In fact, she hadn’t given them much thought at all. Her brother, on the other hand, had been making every effort to better acquaint himself with the family—or at least Camille. Once Harvey had made his intentions known, Macia had decided against pursuing a friendship with the girl. If Camille and Harvey’s relationship didn’t work out, could she still be friends with Camille? Harvey’s continuing friendship with Jeb caused strain enough!

  Mrs. Johnson perused Macia’s list and then accompanied her through the store, helping her find each of the items written on the paper. Though Macia would have chosen to stroll through the store unaccompanied, Mrs. Johnson hadn’t asked about her preference.

  Lifting a tin of crackers from the shelf, Mrs. Johnson nodded toward the side window, the one facing Faraday Pharmacy. “They haven’t been open long, but I notice that all the salesmen coming through spend a lot of time over there.”

  Uncertain what kind of response Mrs. Johnson expected, Macia looked out the window. “I imagine they want Mr. Faraday to carry their products.”

  “Hmmph! Mr. Faraday doesn’t sell frying pans or teakettles or jewelry or books, so I see no reason for those peddlers to be making stops at his pharmacy. And sometimes they remain the entire afternoon. Makes a body wonder how he gets any work done.”

  While the two of them stared out the window, Macia reflected upon Mrs. Faraday’s stern qualities. So long as the matriarch of the Faraday family had a hand in the business, nothing would escape her scrutiny. And from what Macia had observed when the Faradays arrived in town, she remained convinced Mrs. Faraday was quite familiar with everything that occurred within the walls of her home and the pharmacy.

  Mrs. Johnson poked Macia’s arm. “See! There comes one of them now,” she said as a man emerged from the pharmacy. “That fellow’s in town because he delivered supplies to Jeb Malone over at the livery. Now why would he go to the pharmacy? He was in there for nearly two hours.”

  “Perhaps he’s not feeling well and remained in the store to recuperate before departing.”

  Mrs. Johnson’s sigh of disgust sent her unruly wisps of hair fluttering above her forehead. “That man’s as healthy as the rest of us.”

  Everyone had learned that Mrs. Johnson enjoyed peering out the windows to spy on her neighbors and their businesses. Then she would share her findings as “prayer needs.” She prefaced each morsel of tittle-tattle with “We should pray for . . .” That said, she’d be off and running, spreading rumors as though they were verified facts. Frankly, Macia wondered how the gossiping woman found time to stock shelves and wait on customers.

  Apparently the Faraday family was Mrs. Johnson’s latest target. Unfortunately for them, the pharmacy was in plain view of the mercantile’s proprietress—from two different vantage points.

  “See those three fellows leaving the pharmacy?” The woman didn’t wait for Macia to answer her question. Instead, she pointed to her Seth Thomas regulator clock that hung on the wall, high above the marble counter. “Mrs. Faraday will arrive in exactly fifteen minutes.

  She’ll remain no longer than half an hour. Those men will return shortly after she departs. You mark my word. I know what I’m talking about. We need to pray that nothing terrible goes amiss in that store.”

  “Who are you praying for now, Aunt Ada?” Garrett Johnson strode toward them with a confident gait. Though the question had been directed to his aunt, Garrett’s gaze settled upon Macia.

  Mrs. Johnson poked a loose strand of hair behind one ear and mumbled an incoherent reply before scuttling off to the front window, where the men were playing checkers.

  “This is a pleasant surprise. I planned to call on you when I left here.”

  “You did? Why?”

  Garrett laughed. “Because I enjoy your company. And also because I thought you might ride along with me to look at some land I want to survey as a possible site for the cannery.”

  Macia wondered exactly where he was headed. Her hope had been to speak to the German girl Mrs. Johnson had mentioned, the one who might be interested in a housekeeping position. “I’m eager to meet the new German family that moved here while I was in Europe.

  I had thought to introduce myself at one of the community church gatherings, but I’ve not seen them.”

  “They attend the Lutheran church out in the country. It’s closer to their farm. I hadn’t planned to go quite that far, but we can go out there if you like.”

  The hem of Macia’s skirt swished across the wood floor as she and Garrett proceeded to the marble-topped counter. Garrett discussed the ongoing checker game with the two remaining players while his aunt tallied Macia’s purchases, placing them in her basket, and Macia signed the store’s credit ledger. Taking the basket from Macia, Garrett escorted her out the door and, with a wave, bid his aunt good-bye. At least Mrs. Johnson hadn’t called after them to inquire about their plans.

  Macia looked about as they stepped outside. “Your buggy?” She glanced up at Garrett, and he nodded toward the combined livery and blacksmith shop. Gently grasping her by the elbow, he guided her across the street to Jeb Malone’s business establishment. A knot formed in the pit of her stomach as Garrett pulled open the heavy wood door and escorted her inside. The sweet scent of hay floated on the breeze to vaguely remind her of the past and memories she didn’t want to recall—memories that made her wish she could race home. But running off would call for an explanation. And how could Macia explain what she herself didn’t understand?

  Hard as she’d tried, Macia’s heart hadn’t yet released Jeb Malone. Being around him forced her to keep her unwelcome emotions deep inside. Ultimately, avoidance had proven to be her best tactic. After all, she couldn’t take to her bed like a lovesick pup. Folks expected her to get on with the business of life. There were people dealing with real problems. Besides, now that she and Garrett had attended one or two social gatherings, people assumed they were a couple. They wouldn’t expect her to continue harboring any feelings for Jeb.

  Glancing over his shoulder, Jeb greeted them and then resumed shoeing the chestnut gelding. Garrett’s horse and buggy waited in readiness. Perhaps she wouldn’t be required to exchange pleasantries as she had feared. Garrett offered his hand, and Macia moved toward the buggy. Suddenly, only the sounds of snorting horses and the shifting of hooves echoed in the livery. The hammering of shoe nails had ceased, and she instinctively looked down the length of the building.

  Jeb seemed to be moving forward in slow motion, his boots dropping onto the straw scattered on the floor, forcing a flurry of dust motes into the air.

  “I didn’t know you were going to be escorting one of the prettiest gals in town.” Jeb grinned wryly at Macia.

  Though his voice emanated warmth, his steel blue eyes bore the same iciness she’d seen on the day she met him—back when she’d offered to befriend his sister and he’d warned her not to make any false promises because he didn’t want to see his sister hurt. She wondered if he’d given Fern that same admonishment.

  Garrett pushed his hat back on his head and winked. “Afraid I can’t agree with you on that account, Jeb. As far as I’m concerned, Macia is the prettiest girl in town.”

  Jeb ran his hand down the horse’s thick, sleek neck. “You’re likely right, Garrett.” He stroked the horse one final time. “Pretty day to go on a picnic.”

  A flush rose in Macia’s cheeks, and she silently chided herself, annoyed he still had an effect on her. When he asked where they were going, Macia wondered if he still had feelings for her or was merely being talkative with a customer. After all, he’d been the first to mention she was pretty.

  “It is a pretty day and we had best be going before we lose light coming home,” Garrett said.

  Jeb started to turn back. If she didn’t say something, he’d walk away. But there was something she wanted to ask him. “I-I wondered if you’d permit Lucy to join us for Thanksgiving dinner. Mother has invited a number
of people and we . . . I’d like it if Lucy could be there, too.”

  “I s’pose that would be all right. What with Fern cooking over at your place, we weren’t planning anything special for Thanksgiving.”

  He rubbed his jaw. “Sure, that’s fine.”

  “In that case, why don’t both you and Lucy come?”

  Macia swiveled her head so quickly she thought she heard the bones in her neck crack. What in the world was Garrett thinking? He had no business extending an invitation to dinner at her home.

  Her fingers dug into the flesh of Garrett’s arm, and she focused upon a broken board. She didn’t want to look into Jeb’s eyes and be greeted with a cold stare. “Don’t feel obligated to come,” she said. “I realize there are other things . . .”

  He shook his head. “Nope. I’ve got nothing else to do. I’d enjoy a fine Thanksgiving meal. You can count on Lucy and me.” He tucked a piece of straw between his teeth and started for the other side of the barn. “Thanks for the invite.”

  “You’re welcome.” Her voice was no more than a whisper.

  CHAPTER

  12

  When Macia and Garrett arrived at her house to drop off her purchases, he carried the basket into the kitchen and Macia began to unpack it. She glanced up as Fern walked into the room. “Oh good.Would you finish putting these items away, please? I need to speak with my mother before I depart.”

  Fern glared as she grabbed the basket and yanked it across the worktable. Macia opened her mouth to condemn the rude behavior but stopped short when the housekeeper’s features softened as Garrett entered the room. “I didn’t know you had come calling, Mr. Johnson.

  You and Macia going somewhere together?”

  Garrett nodded and greeted her warmly. The thought of leaving Garrett and Fern alone was distressing. Not that Macia didn’t trust him—but she certainly didn’t trust Fern! The minute Macia walked upstairs, Fern would likely ply Garrett with questions. Worse yet, she would exaggerate the facts and declare Jeb had broken Macia’s heart.

  Unfortunately, Macia had no choice but to leave them together. Her mother would accuse her of thoughtlessness should she leave for the afternoon without a word—and she couldn’t trust Fern to deliver a message.

  She hurried up the back stairway and down the hall. Soft snores greeted Macia when she entered her mother’s room. Though her mother refuted the very idea, she always snored when she slept on her back. Macia gently cleared her throat—though not so lightly as to leave her mother’s sleep uninterrupted.

  Wisps of Margaret Boyle’s graying hair fanned around her head as she rolled over and her eyes snapped open. “Who’s there?”

  Macia approached, took her mother’s hand, and hastily explained she was going on an afternoon outing. Shifting on the pillow, her mother gave her approval. “I’m pleased you’ve found someone to take Jeb’s place. Garrett is a fine young man. He’s going to have a future.”

  “We’re all are going to have a future, even after we die, Mother.”

  “You know exactly what I mean, young lady. Garrett intends—” “You’re right. I do know. He has aspirations that will take him beyond Hill City. He will be financially secure—all the things you desire for my future.” Macia released her mother’s hand. “If I don’t go downstairs, he’ll wonder what’s keeping me.”

  “Give Garrett my regards, and hurry along, now.”

  Macia closed the door and flew down the stairs like a bird that had escaped its cage. She stopped short, though, her wings suddenly clipped by the sight that greeted her in the kitchen. Garrett’s large hand cupped Fern’s chin as they stared into each other’s eyes, Fern’s lips puckered into a tight knot. Macia gasped, unable to speak as the horror of the sight constricted her throat. Taking a step back, she leaned against the doorjamb for support.

  Garrett tilted his head to one side and grinned. “Excellent try, Fern. You keep practicing.” The room seemed to swirl, and Macia felt as though she would faint. Her fingers dug into the cool, hard wood supporting her limp body as Garrett drew closer.

  “Are you ill, Macia? You look quite pale.”

  Crooking her index finger, Macia beckoned him forward. She raised onto her toes and hissed into his ear, “We need to speak— alone.”

  Garrett grasped her elbow and escorted her into the parlor. “You haven’t answered me. Are you ill?”

  She glowered. “How dare you stand in my house, kissing my housekeeper and acting as though nothing is amiss? Did you think I wouldn’t see you? I’ve never been so humiliated in my life. I think you should leave.”

  Garrett’s jaw dropped. He glanced back and forth between the kitchen and Macia’s angry scowl. “You think . . . I? Kissing? You think . . . ? Never!” While he sputtered, his head wagged back and forth like a puppy’s tail. His chest heaved as he gulped a swallow of air and took hold of her arm. “I was teaching her how to whistle.” He pursed his lips and blew a few high-pitched notes.

  “Ha! You think I believe that?” Macia yanked loose of his hold and strutted away, but he leaned forward and grabbed her shoulders, his large hands holding her in place. “I don’t know why you think I would even want to kiss Fern, but you’re going to listen to what happened.”

  He explained while she looked straight ahead, staring at the turned down collar of his white cotton shirt. Several times he attempted to tip her chin upward, but she swiped his hand away as if it were a pesky fly. He might compel her to stand before him while he talked, but he couldn’t force her to look at him.

  Her shoulders slowly relaxed as he explained he’d been whistling a tune when Fern commented she’d never been able to accomplish such a feat. “So I explained that whistling is quite simple if you purse your lips properly.” He lightened his grip on her shoulders as she finally looked up at him. “If I had wanted to kiss Fern, I would have merely bent forward and done this.”

  Before Macia could withdraw, he captured her lips in a gentle kiss.

  She pushed against his chest and stepped back. “My mother would judge you harshly for such behavior.”

  A twinkle danced in his eyes. “And you?”

  “Forward and brash.”

  He laughed. “In that case, consider my kiss the administration of medical aid.” He traced his finger along her cheek. “You’ve regained your rosy complexion. I believe my kiss has healed you. Shall we be going?”

  If she weren’t so anxious to meet the German family, she’d tell him to go by himself. “If I can trust that you will behave in a gentlemanly fashion.”

  “So long as you don’t falsely accuse me of kissing Fern—or anyone else, for that matter.”

  “Agreed.” She gave a curt nod and took his arm. “Then let’s be on our way.”

  A short, plump woman with a knot of graying hair perched atop her head greeted them by waving her rug beater high in the air. She gave a final whump and then cast an irritated frown at the red-and-gold-patterned carpet that drooped heavily across the sagging rope clothesline. Before approaching them, she dropped the weaponlike cleaning device to the ground.

  Garrett grinned at Macia. “Glad to see she put down that rug beater. I think she could knock me to the ground with one blow.”

  Macia giggled, imagining Garrett’s assessment was correct. The sight of a young woman rounding the side of the house captured Macia’s attention. She bore her mother’s fair coloring and a mane of thick blond hair that she’d gathered at the nape of her neck. The young woman hastened to her mother’s side.

  “Hello, Mrs. Schmidt. I don’t know if you remember me. Garrett Johnson—from the general store.”

  The older woman swiped a loose strand of hair from her forehead as she looked at her daughter. The two women conversed in German; then the younger one nodded her head. “She remembers you. Please come inside and sit down.”

  After they’d settled themselves in the neat but sparsely furnished parlor, Garrett made the appropriate introductions. However, conversation proved difficult, with each wor
d requiring translation. Macia soon wondered if Mr. and Mrs. Schmidt could get along without their daughter acting as an interpreter.

  Gerta Schmidt explained that her mother wished to be excused so the three of them could converse with less effort. Soon after they’d voiced their agreement, the echoing thump of the rug beater against the carpet started again outside. Macia decided Mrs. Schmidt’s arms would ache come morning. If the woman’s daughter had the same work ethic and could cook, she would prove invaluable to Macia’s family.

  Garrett glanced about the room, clearly bored as Macia and Gerta started talking. “Your father—is he out in the fields?” Garrett asked.

  “Nein—no,” she quickly corrected. “He’s in the barn. Would you like to go out and speak with him, Mr. Johnson? See if he would like to stop working for a short time and come meet Miss Boyle?”

  Garrett jumped up from the settee. “Yes, of course. But we’ll need to be on our way before long.”

  Macia was thankful she would have this time alone with Gerta.

  The moment Garrett was out the door, she continued to question the young woman.

  She pulled a chair close to Gerta’s side—as though they were old friends preparing to share a secret. “Garrett’s aunt, Mrs. Johnson, mentioned you might be looking for work. Is that true?”

  “Ya. Do you know somewhere I can work?”

  “I may. Not right away, but possibly before year’s end.” Macia hesitated, trying to form her question as delicately as possible. “How would your parents get along without you to help them with the language?”

  Gerta leaned her head closer, her eyes as blue as a cloudless summer sky. “Papa’s speech is not always so good, but he understands the

  English. Besides, Mutter would try harder if she didn’t have me to depend upon.”