Her mouth dropped open at his audacity, and she snapped it shut before she said something she’d regret. Did he expect her to lick his boots for telling her she could work serving whiskey? Besides, according to Tillie and Flossie, the girls who worked at the saloon did more than just serve drinks. Tessa didn’t want to think about what other duties they might have to perform. Maybe the kind of work Mr. Kilgore suggested was the best she could be, but the unceasing tug on her heart reminded her that Gideon thought her to be a lady. She took a deep breath and met Mr. Kilgore’s icy eyes. “No, Mr. Kilgore. I will not work in your saloon. Good day.”
She started to go around him, but he stretched out his hand to stop her. Her feet froze, and she glared at his hand touching her arm, then up at his face, and back down at his hand.
Mr. Kilgore lifted his hand from her arm and held it slightly aloft, scorn coloring the sneer on his face. With methodic motion, he splayed his fingers and slid his thumbs down his suspenders and cleared his throat. “I understand you’re the one who’s been doing the baking.”
Her pulse skipped a beat. They’d been so careful to keep their secret. She feared for Flossie’s job, but she lifted her chin and tried her best to appear poised. “That’s right. Flossie burned her hand, and she was afraid you’d fire her. I didn’t want to see her lose her job, so I helped out.” She again started around him.
This time he had the good sense to keep his hands to himself. “Miss Langford, I’ve changed my mind. I’m feeling rather generous today, so you can have your job back.”
Tessa cocked one eyebrow at him. “At thirty-five cents a day?”
“Well, since you’re doing the baking, I could raise you to forty-five cents.”
She turned to face him squarely. “Fifty cents and Flossie gets to keep her job.”
Mr. Kilgore’s face reddened. Though a vein popped out on his neck and his lips tightened around his cigar, she didn’t blink.
“All right! Fifty cents.” He yanked the stubby cigar from his mouth and pointed it at her. “But you remember one thing. Nobody tells me what to do. Not you or that hypocrite Gideon Maxwell. I don’t take that sanctimonious rot from anybody, and don’t you forget it. You watch your step.” He huffed and stalked down the boardwalk.
An odd mixture of laughter, tears, relief, and disgust welled inside her. Her pulse drummed in her temples, and she couldn’t decide whether to look for Gideon or return to her humble dwelling. Instead she did neither. Her knees began to shake, and she sat down on the boardwalk, her lungs heaving like she’d just run a race.
Gideon slammed the door of the living quarters above the mercantile. Fortunately Martha wasn’t home to witness his tantrum. Anger seethed through him at the thought of Kilgore manhandling Tessa. His feet refused to stay still, so he paced back and forth across the front room. He wished he could have thrown at least one punch—just one—square in the mouth.
“He’s insufferable!”
“Henry Kilgore may not have behaved like a gentleman, but you’re not behaving like one either. Kilgore has an excuse. He’s not a Christian. You are.”
Gideon flopped down on the settee and sighed. “I know, Lord. Now Tessa’s lost her job, and it’s my fault.”
He slid to the floor and knelt, leaning his elbows on the settee and holding his face in his hands. “Father, please help Tessa find another job. I hated that she was working for Kilgore, but now she has nothing. She probably won’t accept any help from me. Whatever the solution, it will have to come from You.” He remained on his knees for a time, asking God to forgive his display of temper and praying for Tessa’s situation.
After a while, he felt the urge to go downstairs and work off some of his aggravation.
He’d been meaning to rearrange things in the storeroom for a long time. If the place was better organized with increased shelf space, the mercantile might be more attractive to a buyer.
He rummaged around, pushing and shoving crates here and there, and sketching some shelving ideas on a tablet. A large lumpy object hid under an old canvas in the corner, and Gideon groaned when he remembered the cookstove his father had ordered three years ago for a customer who never came back to get it. The thing took up so much space out front that Gideon finally dragged it back to the storeroom and covered it, thinking he could at least stack bales of fence wire on it.
He pulled off the canvas and scowled at the behemoth. Maybe if he put a reduced price on it and hauled it back out front, someone might take it off his hands. He gripped the thing and pushed and pulled, grunting until sweat popped out on his forehead and dribbled down his face.
Finally, after twenty minutes of wrestling, he straightened up and glared at the stove. The monstrosity simply didn’t want to move.
Whatever the solution, it will have to come from You.
An idea began taking shape in his mind. He grabbed the tablet that bore his rough sketches and crumpled the page. With pencil in hand, a new plan unfolded on a fresh sheet of paper. He sketched efficient shelving and storage, a work space, and a new display area.
An hour later, the plan lay before him on the tablet. “Lord, if this is what You want me to do, You’ll have to make all the details work. But don’t let me run ahead of You, Father. This has to be Your plan, not mine.”
Gideon slapped his hat on his head and bounded out the back door with the tablet in hand. The next step was to speak to Pearl Dunnigan. He took the stairs leading to her back porch two at a time and rapped on her door.
She opened the door and smiled broadly. “Why, Gideon! How nice of you to drop by. Please come in.”
He swept off his hat. “Afternoon, Miss Pearl. Would you have a few minutes to talk?”
“Of course. Come sit down at the kitchen table.” She bustled about pouring two cups of coffee.
The aroma of Sunday pot roast lingered in the spacious kitchen. He wiped his feet on the braided rug at the door. Cheery red-checkered curtains framed the wide window from which sunlight flooded the room. Clay flowerpots lined up like fence posts along the windowsill.
Miss Pearl ushered him to a bare, work-worn table in the middle of the room. Gideon sat on a creaking chair and laid his tablet in front of him, while Miss Pearl set out a plate heaped with molasses cookies and joined him at the table.
He took a tentative sip of the steaming coffee. “I have something I’d like to discuss with you.” He pushed the tablet over so she could look at his sketches.
Thirty minutes later, Miss Pearl shared Gideon’s excitement. She clapped her hands. “Oh, Gideon, I can’t tell you how I’m looking forward to this.”
Gideon emptied his coffee mug. “Tessa can be in business for herself, and she can have a decent place to live here while she helps you out with the baking. Plus, the baked goods she’ll sell from the mercantile will be her source of income while it brings more customers into the store.”
“I have a little room behind the kitchen stairs that will be perfect for her.” Miss Pearl blotted her lips with the hem of her apron. “I’ve been using it for storage, so it will take me a few days to get it ready.”
Gideon rose and picked up the tablet. “There’s no rush since it will take me at least a couple of weeks to construct the work area and install the stove.” Even as he spoke the words, he wished he could make it happen today.
“When will you tell her?”
He paused by the door. “I’d like to get the storeroom organized into a work space first. That way, I’ll have something to show her.” Guilt still hounded him over the events of the afternoon. “I just hope she doesn’t think of it as charity.”
Tessa darted out the door and made straight for Maxwell’s Mercantile. Telling Gideon she still had a job wasn’t the only reason for her errand. When she’d opened up the cabinet this morning to retrieve the leftover cinnamon bread she’d brought home, she discovered little ragged holes chewed through the paper, and only a few miniscule crumbles of bread remained. The little beasts had also made a feast of the cracke
rs she’d bought just two days before.
The mercantile door stood open, inviting her inside.
“Hello, Gideon.”
When he looked up, his normal polite smile he used to greet all his customers deepened into something she didn’t dare try to interpret. “Hi, Tessa.”
Her heart skipped. “I wanted you to know that Mr. Kilgore gave me my job back.”
“Oh?”
The scowl on his face surprised her. She thought he’d be happy she still had a job. “After you left yesterday, Mr. Kilgore came looking for me. He said he knew I’d been doing the baking and he’d changed his mind about firing me.”
Gideon shrugged. “Hmph. More likely he was afraid he’d lose business without you doing the baking.”
“I don’t know about that, but he gave me a raise.”
“That a fact? But Tessa, if he ever dares to lay a hand—”
She stopped him. “Don’t worry. I don’t think he will.” She tilted her head to one side. “By any chance do you know who left a lovely bouquet of daisies at my door yesterday?”
If the red stain filling Gideon’s cheeks was evidence, she had her answer. “Thank you. They’re lovely. You keep doing things that puzzle me. I can’t understand why you want to be nice to someone like me.”
Gideon bristled and put his hands on his hips. “Now don’t start that again.” He held his hands out, palms up, in an entreaty. “Tessa, I just can’t understand why your father railed at you so, and I certainly can’t understand why you believe the things he said to you.”
She lifted her shoulders in a resigned shrug. “It seemed like I heard him say things like that all my life. I was … well, a disappointment to him.” She dipped her head. “Mama had a very difficult time—” Heat filled her face. “After I was born, she never regained her strength. I don’t ever remember Mama being healthy.” Her voice became raspy. “She was never able to give Papa the son he wanted, and it was because of me.” The memory of Mama’s soft whisper in the night after Papa’s tirades, telling Tessa how much she loved her, stroked her heart. But Mama feared Papa, too.
Gideon shook his head. “Tessa, he was wrong. You are a lady, and you don’t deserve to be treated otherwise. Please believe that.”
She lifted her shoulders. “I don’t know. It may take some time.”
“We’ll work on it.” His grin nearly knocked her breath from her. “Was there anything you needed?”
“Well, yes. I need to know the price of a crock or a canister, something with a lid tight enough to keep out a mouse.”
His expression turned sympathetic, and he pulled two sizes of crockery off a high shelf and set them before her on the counter. “This larger one is twenty-eight cents, and the smaller is eighteen cents. Which size would suit your needs?”
Her hand felt around in her pocket for the coins Mr. Kilgore tossed at her yesterday. She hesitated. The smaller one would do nicely, but she wanted to put the coins in her pocket into the old sock she was using to stash away her savings toward her winter rent. Now that Mr. Kilgore had given her a raise, perhaps she could part with eighteen cents later in the week.
She ran a finger around the edge of the smaller crock. “I think I’ll wait for now.”
“Look, Tessa.” He pushed the crock toward her. “Why don’t you take this with you now. You can pay me later.”
She stiffened and shook her head slightly, nudging the crock back across the counter to him. No, she’d not take anything without being able to pay cash for it. “When I get my pay this week, I’ll come back and get it. Meanwhile, could I get five cents’ worth of cheese and crackers, please?” She fished a nickel from her pocket.
He sighed. “Sure.” He went behind the counter and sliced a generous wedge from the large round of cheese.
“That’s too much, Gideon. I said five cents’ worth.”
He put one hand on his hip in mock indignation. “Are you trying to tell me how to run my store?” He wrapped the cheese in paper and went over to a wooden barrel to scoop out a large handful of crackers. “Tessa, is this all you’re eating? Cheese and crackers?”
“No. Flossie said I can take some of the leftovers home at the end of the day.” She pushed the nickel across the counter and picked up the paper-wrapped bundle. “But Flossie has a family to feed, so I usually make sure she takes home most of the leftovers.”
She thanked him and started for the door.
“Tessa?”
She turned.
“God says you are precious in His sight, and I agree with Him.”
eight
Gideon watched as the bank president glanced over the statement from the land office. When Gideon learned the land was owned by the bank, he’d stopped by to speak with Roland Sewell to inquire about the price and terms.
The portly man behind the desk cleared his throat. “This is a fine piece of land. The man who intended to farm it had a run of bad luck and defaulted on his loan.” Sewell stroked his gray whiskers. “The board of directors meets Wednesday. I will bring your request before them at that time.”
Gideon picked up the document and folded it. “The final agreement will have to wait until I have a buyer for the mercantile.”
Mr. Sewell stood and offered his hand. “That’s fine. There’s no rush.”
Gideon shook the man’s hand and exited the bank.
Down the street, the stage pulled up to the depot amid swirling dust. The door opened, and a man wearing a tweed suit with a fancy vest and bowler hat disembarked. Gideon didn’t recall seeing the man before. He’d surely remember a dandy dressed like that.
Gideon simply shrugged. None of his concern. He unlocked the mercantile doors and turned the sign over that declared the store open.
He set to work measuring and marking the walls for the new shelving in the storeroom. His carpentry skills wouldn’t win any prizes, but he’d learned enough from his father to know which end of a hammer to use.
“Hello, anyone about?”
Gideon hurried from the storeroom to greet his customer. To his surprise, it was the fancy gentleman he’d seen earlier getting off the stage. The man’s neatly trimmed mustache and side muttonchops were sprinkled with silver. “Good morning, sir. Welcome to Willow Creek.”
The man smiled broadly. “Ah, you Westerners. Such a friendly lot, you are. My name is Behr, Hubert Behr.” Mr. Behr’s curious accent sounded European. “You’re pretty well stocked here, I see. I need several articles—shaving soap, some pipe tobacco, writing paper, and a pot of ink. Linen handkerchiefs, if you have them. Also, I need some footwear more suitable to this area.”
“Of course. Right this way, sir.”
When Mr. Behr made his choices, Gideon tallied up the man’s purchases. “Shall I deliver these for you, or would you like to take them with you?”
“You deliver, do you? Well, then just deliver them to the hotel down the street. I’ll pick them up at the front desk after I’ve finished my business.” He handed Gideon an extra silver dollar. “Take this for your trouble, young man.”
When Gideon started to protest, Mr. Behr waved his hand. “I insist. You’re saving me an extra trip.” He touched the brim of his bowler in farewell as he exited.
He was a pleasant enough fellow. A smile tweaked Gideon’s lips at the man’s attire. His fancy suit, vest, and hat were as out of place in Willow Creek as a cattle rustler at a tea party. He slipped the silver dollar into his pocket with a grin. That’ll help pay for Martha’s wedding cake.
For the next two hours he worked feverishly on the shelves. When he finished, he stepped back and admired his work. The simple pine planks were plain, but they were serviceable, sturdy, and within easy reach for Tessa.
The bell on the front door sounded.
Gideon laid his hammer down and exited the storeroom to serve his customer but halted in the doorway. “What are you doing here, Kilgore?”
Kilgore smirked and looked around. “It appears your customers are staying away in droves.
Your creditors will be knocking on your door before long with their hands out. I’d like to be around then, when you regret not taking my first offer to buy this place.”
“Kilgore, I’ll never regret not selling to you.” Gideon gritted his teeth to keep from saying more.
Kilgore guffawed as though Gideon’s reply was the funniest thing he’d heard all week. “Will you regret having to board up the place and not getting a dime out of it? Think you’ll be able to buy that piece of land if you don’t sell this dump?” His belly shook with laughter again. The sound grated on Gideon’s ears.
How did Kilgore know about the land he wanted to buy? Gideon narrowed his eyes and fixed his gaze on the pompous man. “My affairs are none of your business, Kilgore.”
Kilgore pulled his cigar out of his mouth and pointed it at Gideon. “I thought you were smarter than that, but you’re a fool, Maxwell. You still haven’t learned that I’m the most important man in these parts. But you’ll learn it now because my offer just dropped two hundred dollars.”
Before Gideon could retort, both men were drawn to the sound of footsteps. Tessa stood just inside the door. Gideon saw her expression change from friendly to apprehensive the moment she laid eyes on Kilgore.
At the sight of his employee, Kilgore gave another humorless laugh. “Birds of a feather, as they say.” He jerked his thumb in Tessa’s direction. “I offered this girl a job making good money at the Blue Goose. You’d think she’d rather work where she could sashay around and dally with the customers, but she turned me down flat.” His tone turned dramatic, laced with sarcasm. “I guess she thinks she’s too good to serve whiskey. She’d rather bake bread and make half the money rather than soil her hands on demon drink.” He laughed, but then the snide mockery drained from his face as he narrowed his eyes at Tessa. “She doesn’t understand that I don’t take no for an answer.” He stuck his cigar in his mouth and took a puff. The smoke shot from his lips in a derisive jeer.
Truly Yours Historical Collection December 2014 Page 37