Truly Yours Historical Collection December 2014

by Susan Page Davis, Paige Winship Dooly, Connie Stevens

  She wrapped the last two crackers in the paper to save for her breakfast, but when she started to return the bundle to the cabinet, something caught her eye. She stared hard through the shadows, trying to determine what it was. Then it moved—no, it scurried. She bit back a scream.

  five

  “Scat!” Tessa banged her hand on the trunk lid to scare the mouse away. She wasn’t inclined to share either her quarters or her food with rodents. A shiver sent gooseflesh up her arms.

  If she planned to read Mama’s Bible, she’d best hurry. Night shadows loomed, driving the rays of sun behind the horizon.

  Tessa took a seat in the doorway with the book angled to catch every bit of available light. She flipped pages until she came to Psalm 27. Her eyes scanned the verses she’d previously read, and she turned the page. Her lips formed the words as she read the rest of the psalm in the dusk. Her finger traced the last verse.

  “Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart.”

  She closed the book carefully and laid it in her lap. The last bit of light faded, but the words she’d read echoed in her mind.

  “It sounds like a promise. God, Mama always told me I could trust the words of this book. It says You will take me up since Mama and Papa are both gone. Does that mean You’ll take care of me? Is that what I’m supposed to wait for?”

  She leaned against the door frame. “And what about Gideon? He says he wants to be my friend. But what if he goes away, too?”

  God’s answer didn’t echo from heaven.

  Fatigue draped around her like a heavy cloak. She scooted aside and started to close the door only to realize she’d be closing the mice in with her.

  A shudder rippled through her. Which was better—sleeping with mice or leaving the door open so anyone could enter? She shrugged at the obvious. The mice could come and go as they pleased whether she shut the door or not, and a closed door didn’t offer security since there was no latch. Tomorrow she’d find a stout stick to brace the door closed.

  She stretched out on one side of the quilt and pulled the other half over her. Her eyelids grew heavy as she listened for the skitter of tiny feet.

  A cacophony of laughter accosted her ears. Faces of men loomed before her, their leering eyes hungry as they reached out to grab her.

  She pulled away from one only to bump against another. She gasped and whirled in the opposite direction where another man closed in. Her breath caught in her throat, strangling her screams. The men laughed as she pushed against them.

  In the middle of the encroaching sea of intimidating faces was Mr. Kilgore. His stubby cigar waggled up and down as he repeated his declaration of the wages she’d earn working at the Blue Goose.

  She strained for breath as panic filled her. “No, I won’t! Leave me alone!”

  Kilgore guffawed. “The friendlier you are, the more they buy, and if they like you, they might stick around … stick around….”

  “A man that hath friends must shew himself friendly.” Gideon’s smiling face came into view. “I thought we were friends. You can only have a friend if you be a friend.”

  She almost took a step toward him but halted abruptly when another face in the crowd pushed forward.

  “You ain’t worth nothin’.” The hateful accusation spewed from Papa’s lips. “It’s your fault. You ain’t worth nothin’….”

  Tessa lurched awake with a cry. Sweat dripped from her temples and slid down her cheek. Or was that a tear?

  She consciously slowed her breathing and lay back down on the quilt. Without a clock, her only means to gauge the time was the level of noise coming from the saloon. The earlier fever pitch was now silent. She didn’t know what time the establishment closed, probably the wee hours. If she allowed herself to go back to sleep, she might rise too late to help Flossie with the baking.

  She rose and shook the quilt, hoping her unwelcome visitors found someplace else to spend the night. The door squeaked as she pushed it open. No illumination from the street lanterns reached the shed. Blackness enveloped the alley.

  Her hands groped along the brick wall as she made her way toward the side door that opened to the hotel kitchen. Once inside, she struck a match and found the lamp hanging over the worktable. The wick caught easily, and she slid the glass globe back into place. After she fed the banked coals in the cookstove, she crossed to the cavernous pantry.

  From the shelves she gathered spices, sugar, and a crock of lard. Three large baskets of apples sat beside the flour barrel.

  By the time Flossie came in the side door with her hand wrapped in a clean rag, three apple pies wafted their cinnamon fragrance through the kitchen, while Tessa crimped the crust of three more on the worktable.

  “Good morning, Flossie. How is your hand feeling today?”

  The cook looked down at the makeshift bandage and shrugged. “Don’t help to complain. I just hope it don’t get no fever in it.”

  Tessa started to suggest Flossie have the doctor take a look at the burn but held her tongue. Doctors cost money. She bit her lip and returned to her task.

  A week after taking over the baking, Tessa’s apple pies and chocolate cakes earned numerous compliments. Working the dough with her fingers gave her satisfaction, and pulling fragrant pastries from the oven brought a measure of contentment she’d not known for a long time.

  Tillie stuck her head in the door. “Tessa, there’s a girl out here who wants to know if you can make a wedding cake.”

  Tessa looked up from the chocolate cake she was frosting and thought for a moment. “Sure.” She considered the cost of the supplies and the extra time involved. “Tell her … two dollars and a half.”

  Flossie smirked as Tillie left to deliver the message. “Don’t reckon Mr. Kilgore knows about our arrangement yet, but if folks keep asking for special orders, he might wonder why.”

  Flossie unwrapped her hand, and Tessa crossed the kitchen to inspect the wound. The inflamed red flesh didn’t appear to be healing as fast as Tessa hoped. “Flossie, you must go see the doctor.”

  The woman shook her head. “Even if I had the money for a doctor, I couldn’t take the chance of Kilgore finding out.”

  Tessa wondered if Gideon carried a burn remedy at the mercantile. It couldn’t hurt to ask.

  The thought of Gideon ignited a warm rush of feelings—the same feelings she’d experienced when his face appeared in her awful dream a week ago. Having Gideon close by felt comfortable. Maybe because he wanted to be her friend. She refused to entertain thoughts of his being anything more.

  The bell on the door jingled, and Gideon looked up to see his sister, Martha, entering the mercantile. A radiant blush glowed on her cheeks, and her green eyes sparkled. “Good afternoon, big brother.” She planted a kiss on Gideon’s cheek.

  He grinned at her. “You certainly look like there’s nothing wrong in your world today.”

  “What could be wrong?” Martha extended her arms and pirouetted. “God has answered my prayers, and in a few weeks, I’ll be Mrs. Theodore Luskin.”

  Gideon smiled as peace filled his heart. Martha was marrying a fine, hardworking, Christian young man who adored her. “So what brings you to our establishment today?”

  “This week’s mail.” She pulled the envelopes from her reticule and laid them on the counter.

  She pressed her palms against the worn wood and beamed. “I just came from the hotel dining room. Their desserts are wonderful. The chocolate cake … mmmm.” She closed her eyes and smiled as though she could taste the confection from memory.

  Gideon leaned against the counter. “Did you and Ted have lunch there?”

  Martha shook her head, and the gold tendrils that framed her face danced. “No, his mother came to town today so we could discuss the wedding with Pastor Witherspoon, and she took me to the hotel for lunch. We asked if the cook could make a wedding cake, and she said yes.”

  Gideon frowned. He didn’t wish to deny his sister, but even the smalles
t luxuries cost money. “Did you happen to get a price for this cake?”

  Martha’s countenance fell, and her voice lost some of its joy. “She said two dollars and a half.”

  Gideon felt like a cad. His declining business wasn’t Martha’s worry. How could he rob her of her happy anticipation? He reached over and patted her hand. “Go ahead and order the cake, honey.” I’ll manage to pay for it somehow.

  His sister came around the counter and hugged him. “Oh, thank you, Gideon. I’ll see you tonight at supper.”

  He bid her good-bye and watched her dash up the stairs to their living quarters. He wished his parents could have lived long enough to see their daughter married. How pleased Pa would have been to walk Martha down the aisle.

  Troubling thoughts of Tessa arose once again. The way her father hurled horrible accusations at her sickened him. Gideon puzzled over Langford’s unreasonable attack on Tessa. How could the man possibly blame her for her mother’s death? He couldn’t imagine his own father telling Martha she was worthless. On the contrary, his father adored his daughter. He shook his head and breathed a prayer for Tessa’s safety and comfort. Her welfare had become a regular request whenever he communed with God.

  He sorted through the mail. The return address on one envelope made his heart leap—the long-awaited answer from a horse breeder in Illinois. He tore open the flap and extracted the missive. A smile climbed into his face as he read. The man was willing to sell him a Belgian stallion at a reasonable price. The letter included terms and suggestions for taking delivery.

  The only thing standing between him and his dream of owning a spread and breeding horses was the sale of the mercantile. Now with the promise of a stallion, he allowed himself to daydream about a pasture full of fine animals, bred especially for the needs of farmers—powerful horses that could pull a plow or a heavy wagon and help a farmer clear a field of rocks and stumps, yet gentle enough to take the family to church on Sunday. If he accepted Kilgore’s offer, he could move ahead with his plans. Despite the foul taste left in his mouth whenever he thought about the man, Kilgore’s offer looked better all the time.

  The door’s jingling bell interrupted his thoughts as Pearl Dunnigan walked in. “Good afternoon, Gideon.”

  He tucked the letter away. “Hello, Miss Pearl. What can I do for you today?”

  The smiling woman reached into her reticule. “It’s pretty much the same list every week. Whenever I try to change the menu, my boarders complain that they’d rather have the same fried chicken and pot roast.”

  Gideon grinned. Miss Pearl’s fried chicken was legendary, and her pot roast was fork tender and juicy. “I don’t blame them.”

  She shook her head. “It gets tiring sometimes, especially since I’m getting older. Standing in the kitchen for hours isn’t as easy as it was ten years ago. I thought I’d try to get some fresh fruit for dessert instead of having to prepare something.”

  Gideon glanced at her as he weighed the amount of sugar she needed. “I hear tell the hotel dining room is turning out some pretty good pies and cakes. Martha’s planning to order her wedding cake from there. Maybe you could give yourself a break and pick up a couple of pies.”

  Miss Pearl put her hands on her hips. “Why, Gideon Maxwell, what an excellent idea. You know Mr. Clemmons who boards at my place thinks Mr. Kilgore must have hired himself a new cook.”

  Her observation gave Gideon pause. Kilgore said Tessa was waiting tables. “That a fact?”

  Mrs. Dunnigan laughed. “You know what a gossip Mr. Clemmons is, so anything he says is purely speculation.”

  Gideon scooped dried beans into a bag to weigh them. “I might go over there myself and sample some pie. Maybe I’ll take Martha along so she can see what an apple pie is supposed to taste like.”

  “Oh, Gideon, shame on you. You shouldn’t pick on Martha so. She’ll be a fine cook someday.”

  Gideon didn’t put much effort in his attempt to appear repentant. “If I didn’t pick on her, she’d think I didn’t love her.”

  “Tsk-tsk. Gideon Maxwell, you’re terrible.” Miss Pearl shook her head.

  Gideon winked at her. “Did you want any molasses or bacon to go with these beans?”

  “Hmm, five pounds of bacon, and go ahead and throw in a tin of molasses. Maybe I’ll bake some cookies next week.”

  Gideon accommodated her request and tucked in a couple of the dear lady’s favorite peppermint sticks.

  Miss Pearl counted out her money, and he carried the loaded box out to the little cart she always pulled along behind her when she ran her errands. “Thank you, Gideon. Now don’t you be a stranger. You come and see my Maggie’s new batch of kittens.”

  Gideon grinned. “Haven’t you told Maggie she’s too old for such nonsense? How many years have you had that old cat?”

  “Oh, nigh onto fifteen years, I think. Anyway, this is the cutest litter she’s ever had. Maybe Martha would like to pick one out. She’s going to be living out on the Luskins’ farm. They’ll need a good mouser.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’ll ask her. You have a nice afternoon now.” He paused in the doorway and considered Miss Pearl’s comment about Kilgore hiring a new cook. Could it be Tessa was doing more than just waiting tables?

  He glanced up and down the boardwalk. No throngs of customers demanded his attention. It wouldn’t hurt to run over to the hotel for a piece of pie.

  He locked the door and hurried down the boardwalk. His long strides covered the distance to the hotel in no time. Most of the lunch patrons had already departed when he entered the archway that led to the dining room. He sat down hoping for a glimpse of Tessa.

  Instead the regular waitress came over to his table to take his order.

  “Hello, Tillie. Do you have any apple pie left?”

  Tillie smiled. “It’s been going fast these days, but we’re turning them out as fast as we sell them. Is that all you want, just pie?”

  “And coffee. Thanks.”

  Tillie hurried away and returned moments later with a generous slab of apple pie and a steaming cup of coffee. “Fifteen cents.”

  Gideon pulled out two dimes and told Tillie to keep the change. The spicy aroma teased his senses, and his mouth began to water before he tasted the first bite. When the stillwarm apples and cinnamon wrapped in flaky crust hit his tongue, he closed his eyes and savored the sweetness. It was beyond any doubt the best apple pie in the county. Would it be too bold for him to ask who made it?

  Tillie returned a minute later. “More coffee?”

  “No, thanks. But I would like to compliment your cook on this wonderful pie.” He waited with hopeful anticipation to learn the identity of the baker.

  Confusion traced lines across Tillie’s forehead, and she cast a glance over her shoulder. “We all pitch in and share the kitchen duties.”

  Disappointment pricked him. He’d hoped Tessa was the one turning out the delectable desserts. “Did you make this pie? It’s certainly the best I ever ate.”

  “N–no, it wasn’t me.” After another nervous glance from side to side, she leaned down to whisper to Gideon. “Actually, we have a new girl who was hired to wait tables, but she’s been doing the baking since our cook burned her hand.”

  So it was Tessa! But why did Tillie seem to think Tessa’s baking skills should be kept secret?

  “If Mr. Kilgore finds out Flossie hurt her hand and isn’t doing everything she’s supposed to do, he’ll fire her. Tessa, the girl who’s doing the baking, came up with a plan for her and me to help out so Flossie won’t lose her job. In fact, we were wondering if you have anything at the mercantile to use on burns.”

  Gideon’s heart smiled at the thought of Tessa stepping up to help the injured cook, but outwardly he frowned. “Hasn’t she seen the doctor?” Tillie shook her head vehemently.

  He pressed his lips together and thought for a moment. “Let me see what I can do.”

  The waitress smiled in obvious relief. “Thank you.”

  G
ideon shoveled the rest of pie into his mouth and pressed his fork on the remaining crumbs, unwilling to waste a single morsel. He drained his coffee and rose to leave.

  On his way out, his eye caught a glimpse of motion from the second-floor balcony. When his gaze darted upward, he discovered Kilgore standing at the railing, watching him walk across the lobby.

  six

  Gideon itched to contact the man in Illinois regarding the purchase of the stallion, but first things first. A piece of acreage he’d looked at awhile back, land perfectly suited for his dream, called to him. As far as he knew, the parcel remained available.

  When he and Martha returned home from church and finished eating Sunday dinner, he walked over to the livery. “Howdy, Cully!”

  The old curmudgeon snorted as he startled awake. “Gideon! Why you sneakin’ up on a body like that? It’s plumb dangerous to come up behind a man, y’know.”

  Gideon grinned at the gray-haired old coot. “You don’t look too dangerous to me, sleeping in that haystack, Cully. Now some of those swayback, lop-eared nags in the corral are another matter. How much do you charge to rent one of those prized steeds?”

  Cully brushed off his overalls and picked hay from his scraggly beard. He waved a gnarled hand in the direction of the corral. “Take your pick. If you saddle him yourself, I won’t charge you nothin’.”

  “Thanks, Cully.”

  Gideon snagged the halter of the nearest horse. Minutes later he tightened the cinch and mounted. Reining the animal through the corral gate, he set off toward the east at a lope.

  It’d been months since he’d looked over this piece of land. As he rode, he pictured in his mind every draw and grassy slope and the small creek that meandered through the prime grazing pasture.