by Cathy Marie Hake, Lynn A. Coleman, Mary Davis, Susan Page Davis
Conner looked at his pocket watch. Vivian would be sitting down to supper any minute. If he hurried, he might garner an invitation to join her. He locked up the shop and rode Dakota at a gallop uptown.
The black crepe on Vivian’s door weighed heavily on him. He wished Randolph were coming back, but at the same time, there was Vivian. He was being torn apart by this conflict and didn’t know how to resolve it. He could still leave town.
He knocked softly. Maggie opened the door to let him in. “Good evening, Mr. Jackson.”
He smiled at the plump older woman. “I wish you’d call me Conner.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
He nodded. “Is Mrs. Carlyle in the dining room?” He hoped she hadn’t eaten early and he was too late.
“She went to bed an hour ago and fell right asleep.”
“It’s only suppertime. She can’t be sleeping.” Conner couldn’t believe it. Something had to be wrong.
“She was very tired from the day.” Maggie tried to placate him. “She will feel better tomorrow.”
“I want to see her.”
Maggie squared her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jackson. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”
“I need to know she’s all right.”
“She was fine when she went to bed.”
“That was an hour ago. Please go check on her for me.”
Maggie seemed reluctant but finally conceded. “You wait here.” She headed up the stairs one slow step at a time.
When she was halfway up, a scream came from above. He took the stairs three at a time, overtaking Maggie quickly, who sped up. He burst through Vivian’s door and stared at her thrashing the covers around with her hands and feet.
Maggie hurried past him. “Just a bad dream.” She braced her hands on his chest and pushed him out into the hall. “You stay out here.” She went to Vivian’s side and soothed her with a gentle hand on her forehead, apparently without waking her.
Vivian calmed, and Maggie smoothed the covers back into place before returning to the hall and closing the door. “The past week has been very hard on her. She hasn’t slept well.”
It had been a long week, and Conner hadn’t had the comfort of a good night’s sleep, either. He went home to bed and flopped most of the night like a dying fish cast upon the shore.
Chapter 8
Conner sat in the chair opposite Mr. Benton. “Do you have the papers for me to sign?”
“Are you sure you want to do this? Even if Mrs. Carlyle chooses to petition the courts, it doesn’t mean she will win.”
“Randolph was my best friend. I would be dishonoring him to cheat his widow. Before Randolph left, he asked me to take care of Mrs. Carlyle should anything happen to him.”
Mr. Benton opened a folder. “This document turns over one quarter of Carlyle Shipping to Mrs. Carlyle, half of what you inherited. That is very generous of you.”
“I have my own business that is doing well. I don’t need half of Carlyle Shipping.” He didn’t need any of it. The gold rush had been a huge boon to his business with miners pouring through town to head north to Alaska. He was wealthier than he ever thought he would be. But his gift to Vivian wasn’t all that unselfish. As long as both he and she were part owners, she would be a part of his life. That’s the way he wanted it. If he stayed close to her during her time of mourning, he’d be aware if any other man began to show an interest in her before he could tell her his feelings and court her. No, he wasn’t being generous; he was being cautious and looking out for his own interests.
He took the pen and dipped it into the inkwell. Satisfaction wrapped around his heart as he scratched his name on the line, binding his life with Vivian’s.
Mr. Benton blotted the signature and blew on it before setting it aside. “These next documents give me the right to transfer funds from Carlyle Shipping to a new account in Mrs. Carlyle’s name.”
“She doesn’t have to know I set this up, does she?”
Mr. Benton shook his head. “She’s coming into my office in two days. I’ll suggest that it must have been Captain Carlyle.”
“It’ll be six months’ worth of her share of the profits from Carlyle Shipping?” He didn’t want her to get suspicious with regular deposits. It would put him in a bit of a pinch, but he figured he’d be all right.
“I don’t think the business can handle that amount all at once. I’ll have just part of one month’s profits to start with put into the account. That should be plenty for her needs. I’ll talk to the banker, so when I take Mrs. Carlyle to the bank to sign over the account to her, he will tell her that arrangements have been made for a monthly allotment to be deposited into her personal account from Carlyle Shipping.” Mr. Benton turned the document to face him. “If those terms suit you, sign all three pages.”
As long as Vivian thought Randolph had set this up and she would have money enough, that was all he was concerned with. He scratched his name on all the lines.
“Now if you will accompany me to the bank, we’ll get the account set up in her name.”
On Thursday, Vivian sat in Mr. Benton’s reception area. She’d purposefully not told Conner that she was seeing Randolph’s attorney again. She didn’t want him to come and try to talk her into taking part of his and William’s inheritances. She knew that somehow the Lord would see to her needs. She would not go back to the old life she’d left only ten months ago. She would starve to death first. Death didn’t scare her as it once had. If she died, she knew she’d go to heaven and see Jesus. No one would miss her here on earth.
The door to Mr. Benton’s office opened. A man exited with Mr. Benton. They shook hands, and the man left. Mr. Benton turned to her. “Sorry for keeping you waiting, Mrs. Carlyle. Please come in.”
She entered and sat in the offered chair.
Mr. Benton rounded his desk and sat. “How are you doing today?”
“Fine, thank you.”
“Have you considered my proposal to petition the court to uphold Randolph’s unsigned will?”
“I have, and I still decline.” She felt bad enough deceiving Randolph without trying to steal from Conner and William. They were both good men, very good men, and both deserved every penny Randolph had left them. She’d prayed and didn’t believe the Lord wanted her to pursue action against the will.
“Very well.”
That was it? He wasn’t going to try to persuade her? “If you were going to so easily accept my refusal, why have me come down to your office?”
“I have other business to discuss with you. It is that other business that allows me to accept your decision so readily.” Mr. Benton shuffled papers on his desk. “Which to cover first?”
First? What was going on?
“It has come to my attention that a bank account has been left in your name. This letter came from Northwest Bank.” Mr. Benton handed her a letter.
She read the letter that indeed detailed she had an account in her name. “Why send this to you instead of me?”
“It’s much easier to deal with me than a distraught widow.”
She was far from distraught. Guilty, yes, but the banker didn’t know that. “Who would set up an account for me?” She also wondered how much was in the account but didn’t want to ask.
“The letter doesn’t say. When we are finished here, I’ll take you over to the bank and help you get everything settled. I made an appointment with the bank’s manager.”
Mr. Benton took the letter back, set it aside, and picked up another paper. “I sent word to Mr. William Carlyle on his inheritance. I received this telegram this morning.”
Tell Mrs. Randolph Carlyle to stay in the house. Make arrangements for her to use any money needed for household expenses until my arrival. Sending letter with further details.
“Your husband’s brother is putting you in charge of his estate for the time being.” Mr. Benton took back the telegram. “We’ll take this to the banker, as well. It seems you are being taken care o
f, so I’ll not worry about you for now.” He stood. “Shall we go to the bank?”
She nodded and stood. “We can both travel in my carriage. It’s right outside.”
Once at the bank, she and Mr. Benton were ushered into Mr. Olsen’s office.
“I just have a couple of papers for you to sign.” Mr. Olsen held out a piece of paper. “This one completes the transfer of the account into your name so you will have complete access to it. I just need your signature at the bottom.”
Mr. Benton took the paper.
She scooted slightly forward in her seat as Mr. Benton read. “Who set up this account? Did Randolph?”
“I’m not at liberty to disclose that information, but who else would?” Mr. Olsen kept his nose crinkled to hold up his glasses, which caused him to wear a perpetual frown.
Mr. Benton handed her the paper. “It’s okay to sign.”
She signed and handed it back to Mr. Olsen.
“How much money is in the account?” Mr. Benton asked.
That was the question she was hesitant to ask because she didn’t want to seem greedy. She just wanted to know how long it would sustain her after William and Sarah came and she moved out of their house.
Mr. Olsen handed her another sheet. “This is the amount of money currently in the account. Each month an undetermined amount will be deposited from Carlyle Shipping.”
That was a significant amount. She could live on that if she lived frugally. So Randolph had set in place a means to take care of her even if he hadn’t gotten around to signing his will. She didn’t mind using this money, because she wouldn’t be taking money from Conner or William. “May I draw on this account today?”
“Certainly. How much would you like?”
She gave him the figure. She wanted to have money to pay Abigail when she brought her finished dress, and that sum would pay her well for her services.
“I’ll get that and be right back.”
“Before you go, we have another matter,” Mr. Benton said. He handed Mr. Olsen the telegram. “I took the liberty to draw up a temporary agreement for both you and Mrs. Carlyle to sign as to how much money she may withdraw to take care of household expenses. If this agreement suits you, she’ll also need money to pay the salaries of the two domestic servants who were in Captain Carlyle’s employ at the time of his death as well as other household needs.” He handed Mr. Olsen another paper. “As you can see, the amount is rather conservative, bare essentials for the house. Mrs. Carlyle has her own money now for her personal needs. When I hear more from Mr. William Carlyle or his attorney, I’ll have a more complete document to sign if Mr. Carlyle isn’t present to retain possession of his affairs.”
“This seems reasonable.” Mr. Olsen signed, and she signed; then Mr. Olsen retrieved the money requested.
She had Scotty return Mr. Benton to his office. “Mr. Benton, thank you for everything.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll let you know when I hear from Mr. Carlyle. In the meantime, be wise with that money.”
“I will.”
She arrived home to find Abigail waiting for her.
“Hello, Harry.” She bent down to the boy’s level. “What kind of cookies does Miss Maggie have for you today?”
He pointed a chubby finger at a dark spot on the oatmeal cookie. “Dat’s a waisin. I love waisins.”
“You eat as many as you like.” She straightened and sat on the sofa with Abigail. “You have a very sweet boy.”
Abigail smiled. “That I do. I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have him.” She stood and walked over to one of the side chairs. “I finished your dress.”
She patted the cushion. “I just arrived and would like to rest a bit before I try it on. Do you have time for a short visit?”
Abigail nodded and sat. Vivian figured that Abigail kept busy to provide for her and Harry and that her schedule afforded her little time to rest. She felt a bond with Abigail, and they spoke easily for nearly an hour. Then she put on the dress and came back downstairs.
“I love it. I would love it more if it weren’t black. When I’m not in mourning any longer, I’ll have you make me another dress.” If she could afford it. The money in the bank account was limited, but she would survive on it. The Lord had provided for her, and the least she could do was share with someone else in need. She took the money she had gotten to pay Abigail from her handbag and gave it to her.
“Mrs. Carlyle, this is too much. I can’t accept it.” Abigail held the money back out to her.
She put her hands around Abigail’s, tucking the money into her palm. “Please take it.” She glanced at Harry who had curled himself into the chair and fallen asleep. “The workmanship is worth every penny.”
Abigail threw her arms around her. “Thank you. I didn’t know what I was going to do. May the Lord bless you for your generosity and kindness.”
“He already has.”
Chapter 9
On Friday, Conner pulled the shade up and flipped his CLOSED sign to OPEN. A young man about seventeen stopped his pacing on Conner’s boardwalk and stared at him through the window. What was it with people on the store’s doorstep? First Randolph drunk, then Scotty twice, and now this young man. He unlocked the door. “You’re an eager fellow. Are you heading to the goldfields up north?”
“Nope. I just came from Alaska, and if I never return, it’ll be too soon.” The lad wasn’t particularly handsome, with a pockmarked face and red blotches.
“You didn’t find gold?”
“I wasn’t looking for gold.” He cinched a brown leather satchel up higher on his shoulder. “I was on board a ship. I came back by land.”
“Ship would’ve been faster.”
“I won’t step foot on another ship for as long as I live.” His voice was hard and determined.
“What can I do for you? Are you looking for something in particular?”
“I’m looking for Conner Jackson. Is that you?”
He nodded and studied the lad a moment. “What’s this about?”
“I was a cabin boy on Captain Carlyle’s ship.”
No wonder the boy didn’t want to sail again. He probably barely got off with his life. Randolph would have seen to the lad’s safety and that of his crew before his own.
The lad took the satchel from his shoulder. “He told me to find you and to give this to you.” His jaw worked back and forth.
“You were on the ship when it sank?”
“No, sir. The captain put this satchel over my head and shoved me into a dingy.” Moisture filled the boy’s eyes. “Said I had to live and find you. That it was an order. He told the others in the dingy to get as far from the ship as possible and paddle for land as fast as they could. I thought he and the other men would make it. It just all exploded.”
A tear escaped and trickled down the lad’s face. Conner averted his gaze and choked back some tears of his own.
“Mr. Jackson, the captain said you’d pay me back for the cost to get from Alaska to here.”
He doubted Randolph was thinking about money for the lad when his ship was on fire, but the boy had been honorable in seeing that his captain’s last wishes were carried out. If this really were from Randolph, he would pay the lad well. “Let me see what you brought.” He pulled out the ship’s log and a ledger book as well as a flat pouch with cash in it. There was no way to know how much had been in there, but the lad had to have brought at least most of it. The ledger was a copy of Randolph’s shipping business’s finances. He would take this over to his accountant right away and have him compare it to the ones from the shipping office.
Tears welled in his eyes. Randolph had known he wasn’t going to make it, or why else would he have sent the lad off with this satchel? He took a deep breath and blinked several times before turning back. “Have you eaten breakfast?”
The lad shook his head.
“You like peaches?”
The lad nodded.
Conner took a can off the shelf and
opened it with an opener from behind the counter. He handed it to the lad, along with a fork from a small stash he kept behind the counter. “I’ll get you something more after my assistant arrives.”
The lad was shoving the peach sections into his mouth as fast as he could get them out of the can. He better get this boy something else, or he might start eating the can. Conner ran upstairs for a bowl, spoon, and a bottle of milk. When he came back, Martin was glaring at the boy, whose name he didn’t know. “Martin, it’s all right.”
Martin nodded and walked to the back to hang up his coat.
“What’s your name?”
“Todd Major.”
“Do you like shredded wheat?”
“Heard of it, but I never had it.”
He poured the boy a bowl full. “You’ll like it.”
The lad had downed one bowl and started on his next before the first customer crossed the threshold. Martin assisted the man in the pale blue coat. Conner went to Todd. “Do you have a place to stay?”
“No, sir.” A drop of milk sat contentedly on Todd’s chin.
This lad was trustworthy, or he wouldn’t have bothered to come all this way on his dead captain’s mission half starved with a pouch of cash. “You looking for a job?”
Todd shrugged. “It depends on how much it’s worth to you what I brought you.”
“Depends on what?”
“If it’s enough to make it down to California. If not, I’ll go as far as I can and pick up odd jobs along the way. People can always use a strong back.”
“Is that how you came down from Alaska? Odd jobs?”
“Yes, sir. I hear California is a sunny place. No snow, either.”
Conner handed Todd a piece of paper and pencil. “Write down how much money you spent to get from Alaska to here.”
Todd pushed the paper away. “I don’t know no reading or writing.”
But he spoke well enough. “Can you tell me what you spent?”
Todd listed off every place he worked, how much they paid him, and every place he spent money along with how much. The boy had a good memory. With a little tutoring, he could learn to read and write easily enough.