Pamela recalled Maria telling her that her sons had spoken of her constantly on their calls home—and the first one happened on the very evening of the day she’d met the two. She’d heard it said that some men moved slow. Adam and James had already told her they’d meant to initiate a relationship with her far sooner than they had. That was the main reason she was willing to give them more time to see what was right there in front of them.
“I hear you’re going to have coffee with mother and the aunts and grandmothers tomorrow,” Adam said. “Dad stopped into the office this afternoon and mentioned that he and Douglas had been given their instructions for the next day, and they involved not being at home.” He grinned at Pamela. “I think the dads want to stay put, just so they can hear whatever gossip it is the women are sharing.”
“Oh, we don’t gossip,” Pamela said.
“Oh?” James appeared surprised by that. “So, what exactly goes on then, when all y’all get together?”
Hmm. How to answer that without lying? It took her a moment to frame her response. “We usually just talk about whatever projects we may be involved in. We share recipes sometimes and talk about our gardens.” And then, because it was true, she couldn’t resist adding one more thing. “We also talk about our husbands.”
They both looked at her, eyes slightly widened. “In a kind, and loving way, of course,” she said.
James chuckled. “So…no gossip, you said?”
“Oh no. Absolutely not. Just the absolute, unvarnished truth.”
“I can only imagine.” Then he took her hand once more. “It worried me some, wondering if you’d find friends, here. Wondering if you and mother and the aunts and the grandmothers would get along all right.”
“I love them, sweetheart. Thank you both for sharing your family with me. Having them in my life has eased my sense of the loss of my mother. I still miss her, of course, but that sense of being all on my own, without a maternal influence, is gone. That hole in my heart isn’t as big as it was, because your mother and Grandmother Chelsea—along with the aunts and my new cousins—have filled it some.”
* * * *
Adam Jessop took a moment as he sipped his coffee in the small meeting room, staring at the pictures that hung on the wall, pictures of a by-gone era. It wasn’t only this building that was pictured. There was another, of a large home with a welcoming porch and a group of townsfolk and others. The quality of the picture told its age. This was taken during the First World War, when Lusty built and opened the Convalescent Home and staffed and ran it as its donation to the war effort. For those who didn’t go off and fight, this was their contribution. There was another photo of the same building, this one taken during the next war and featuring a young woman, dressed in the uniform of the United States Army standing against a post, her arms folded, her gaze trained off into the distance. Aunt Kate. Back in the day, he’d heard, she’d been a real firecracker. Hell, for all of that, she still was.
The doctor’s office in Lusty, Texas, really didn’t need three full-time physicians. The population of the town was nearing a thousand, but one thing was certain. Just as Lusty would grow, so it would shrink again. Their practice was registered with a couple of hospitals in Waco and also with Hamilton General Hospital, over in Hamilton—a city just beyond the boundary of Benedict County, in Hamilton County.
That latter agreement had been in effect since the rebuilt general hospital had opened its doors in 1957. Doctors from Lusty had, in the past, responded to emergencies in those facilities and had also been available to go out on calls in the wide rural environs of the county since shortly after that first doctor—Jeremiah Parker—had arrived in Lusty in 1910.
Where there were farms and ranches, there would be accidents, some requiring the assistance of a doctor. They didn’t have a full-time nurse, but Kate Benedict, who’d come to Lusty in 1942 as a major in the Army Nurse Corps, came in a couple of days a week. Kate kept her certification and license current, and Adam knew from his dad that Kate not only knew her stuff, she had a way with the patients.
I imagine so since she single-handedly ran a convalescent home with as many as twenty-four male patients at a time during the war. Of course, Kate was always quick to point out that without the presence of Dr. Parker and the help of the community, many members of which volunteered their time, she couldn’t have managed to run the place at all.
But she was the only trained nurse, and the responsibility for the care of the residents, in the eyes of the United States Army, had been hers, and hers alone.
“It’s a proud tradition this town has.” Uncle Terrence came into the room, his own coffee cup in hand. He sat himself down in one of the chairs and scanned the photographs that had been framed and hung, Adam knew, not all that long ago.
The family had a lot of photographs, and they were changed about on a regular basis. There were enough pictures, Grandmother Chelsea was fond of saying, to fill a dedicated museum.
“It is a proud tradition,” Adam said.
“Of course, we have more traditions than just those related to our field of endeavor.”
James came into the room, cup in hand, and took a seat. “Are we having a meeting, then?”
Adam’s focus was on Terrence. Something in the way his uncle had said that made him raise one eyebrow.
“To which other traditions, exactly, are you referring?”
Terrence sighed. “You know the story, of course, of how your great-grandmother Amanda and great-grandmother Sarah arranged for Kate to come to Lusty, and why.”
“Uncles Gerry and Pat met her in Arlington and fell in love with her—and begged their grandmothers to pull strings.”
“Indeed, they did. Which meant, of course, that your Grandmothers Chelsea and Mattie felt they had a tradition to uphold.”
“Um, what sort of tradition?” James asked.
“Why, a tradition of action, of course. The one that has them ‘looking into things’ and when cause is found, ‘setting things to rights.’ And it’s not just those two matriarchs, either, who busy themselves. Madison, Miranda, and yes, even your mother, along with Kate and now, I fear, the next generation of women…”
Adam looked at James. His brother looked as confused as he, himself felt. “And this is a problem because…”
“Well, damn it man, the women don’t know what kind of danger they can be walking into! They assume—whether it’s because they’re women or women of means that they can handle any damn thing they stumble upon. They don’t know how dangerous people can be—people of ill will—when they’re cornered.”
“What people of ill will?”
Adam had a bit of a sick feeling in his stomach. He expected an answer, but not an answer in the form of a question.
“What did you think would happen when y’all told your parents about the con artists who fleeced Pamela’s father? Did you expect the ladies would only indulge in tea and sympathy?”
“What, exactly, are they doing?” James asked.
“How do I know? My Madison is as closed-mouthed as the rest of the women in this family. Philip and I have no idea what she’s up to.” He frowned. “We do know, from Jeremy Kendall and Charlie Benedict, that Chelsea and Mattie contracted the services of a private investigator, in New York, to try to find those two charlatans.”
“Well, then they’ve turned to a professional. Do we know if this is a reputable investigator?”
Terrence waved his hand as if the question really wasn’t relevant. “Of course, the man is reputable. The family has used him for at least a few years.”
The alarm that Adam had begun to feel with his uncle’s original pronouncement calmed. “This is a good thing. Perhaps we should ask the grandmothers if we can contribute to the cost…”
“No, no. The Town Trust handles that sort of thing. Pamela is, after all, a Jessop. Is she not?”
It took all of Adam’s will not to raise one eyebrow at what he felt was the absurdity of the question. “Of course
she is, and one who’s embraced the family at that.”
“Well of course she has. She’s a sensible woman.” Terrence sighed. “Sadly, that will likely change as the years pass. Her being sensible. We men are going to have a meeting, tomorrow, at about eleven. The other men will attend, and we’ll discuss what precautions should be taken to ensure the safety of our women.”
Adam met James’s gaze. He’d originally thought that his uncle was too young to be considering retiring, and he worried he was doing so just so he and his brother could have a useful position within Lusty.
Now he was beginning to think that retirement couldn’t come soon enough.
“You’ll attend the meeting tomorrow, with me, over at the New House. Chelsea, Miranda, Mattie, and Kate will be heading to Waco early to go shopping. You’ll attend with me, and let’s see if you still think I’m a crackpot then.”
Adam didn’t know what embarrassed him more, that his Uncle Terrence had read his thoughts or that he hadn’t known what Pamela had been involved in with the ladies.
“We’ll be there,” James said. Yes, his younger brother was thinking the exact same thing he was.
If the grandmothers had hired a private investigator, why hadn’t Pamela told them? True, they hadn’t come right out and asked her if anything unusual was happening when she got together for coffee with the women.
Then another thought occurred to him, and he decided to speak to James before they headed home. He knew his grandmothers and how nurturing they could be—and how protective, as well. Maybe it was a case that Pamela didn’t know about the private investigator, that Grandmother Chelsea and Grandmother Mattie hadn’t mentioned anything to her, in case she got her hopes up, only to have them dashed.
Uncle Terrence headed back to his own small office. James nodded to the door, and Adam shut it.
“Why don’t we talk to Caleb? Maybe he can look into whether or not there are any bulletins out on those men who conned Reg?”
“That’s a good place to start,” Adam said. “But let’s not say anything to Pamela about that—or about this meeting the men will be having.”
“Of course not,” James agreed. “We don’t want to get her hopes up.”
Adam nodded. It really was a blessing that he had his brother, his best friend, to share the responsibility of being a husband. Both of them would take care of their woman, together.
Chapter Twelve
She was looking forward to a nice cold glass of sweet tea. Pamela was having the time of her life, but making jam on this scale was hot, and thirsty, work.
As she relaxed and looked around the kitchen, a kitchen filled with so many women, most of whom had already become dear to her, she thought her mother would have thoroughly enjoyed this particular project.
There were air conditioners in the big house, of course, but the grandmothers preferred fans and having the windows open for errant breezes. Screens prevented the incursion of bugs, and the day wasn’t as hot as usual. There actually was a bit of fresh air, here and there, that made it through to them.
Another treat, unexpected but added to what she’d anticipated, was meeting a young woman and new Jessop cousin, Abigail Parker. Maria had told her of the other woman’s arrival in Lusty. Aunt Kate had come upon her at the cemetery. She was a descendent of the Parker-Joneses, the granddaughter of Terrence, Jeremy, and Phyllis’s only daughter, Maude.
Both her grandmother and her mother had passed away recently, and the young woman had believed herself to be all alone in the world—until she’d stumbled across a box in her grandmother’s closet. The box had held photos and letters and a journal and had led Abigail to Lusty.
There’d been a moment for a private word. Pamela had offered her condolences on Abigail’s still recent losses and confided that her own mother had passed not all that long ago—a death that had been completely unexpected. Pam let Abigail know she was there for her, if she wanted or needed to talk.
I’ve been so warmly welcomed to this wonderful town. How can I not offer the same to her?
Chelsea began to recount her first experience attending a jam-making session, when she’d been quite young. She told how the men helped by keeping the outdoor fire going for the time it took to complete the job.
“Was it hard to regulate the heat, to keep the jam from burning?” Abigail asked.
“There was a trick to it, that’s for certain. Even with the wood stove, you learned, from the doing, from the making, how to keep the temperature just right for baking, roasting meat, or making jams and jellies and such.”
“You must think we have it easy today by comparison,” Pamela said.
“All the modern conveniences we have like the electric range and other appliances make it so much less work you must want to shake your head when you hear women of our generation complain about hard work.” Samantha nodded.
Kate and Miranda passed out the glasses of sweet tea as three large batches of jam gently simmered on the stove.
“Certainly, the doing of chores is physically easier today than when I was a child and, later, a young bride,” Chelsea said. “But there are other difficulties to modern living that take their place. I never questioned my future. I knew what I wanted from the time I was ten. Today, it seems, there are all sorts of pressures on young women. Do you get an education, become a professional, or get married and raise your children?
“Do you burn your bra or burn the supper until you get it right?” Chelsea shook her head. “I don’t understand why men today think they can be the lords of the castle just because they earn the money. Oh, not any of our men, because I can assure you their fathers knocked that foolishness out of them at an early age. But men in the rest of the country. My mother-in-law was a private investigator before the turn of the last century and worked with her husband, Warren, who was a lawyer. When she was pregnant and after she gave birth, she still worked, though she hired others to do the running around. Her husbands never would have considered telling her she couldn’t do anything.”
No wonder Grandmother Chelsea gets annoyed with Adam and James. This new information gave Pamela another insight. With examples like that, dating back to the end of the 1800s, how on earth could they be so…so dense?
They returned to the hot and busy work of jam-making. Since all of the jars had been washed, dried, sterilized, and awaited filling, Pamela and Samantha traded off with Abigail, who helped the grandmothers and Bernice, who immediately headed back to the ranch to give Maria a hand in putting lunch out for the men who were working there.
There was one final large batch to put together, and Pamela learned how to crush the berries so there were pieces of varying sizes.
“I suppose it would be easier if we used food processors to puree the fruit,” Grandmother Mattie said. “But the truth is I like the chunks.”
There was almost unanimous agreement that chunky strawberry jam was better than jam rendered completely smooth.
“Too smooth would look store-bought,” Chelsea said. “Now, there’s nothing wrong with store bought, but this is more than how the jam looks, or even in the production of the jam itself. This is tradition.”
And it’s more that tradition. Pamela looked around the kitchen, as they worked their way through the rest of the ripened fruit brought to them by the Bachelor Uncles. This community of women of different generations, gathering, working together, and sharing the time, and the stories, this was making a connection that kept past generations alive and introduced them to newer ones.
Finally, all the jars were filled, sealed, and put through the water bath. Pamela recalled watching her grandmother jar her homemade jam and sealing the jar with paraffin wax. Another method to the same end.
All in all, the morning and afternoon had been a wonderful time.
Abigail, who was staying at the Big House, headed upstairs to shower, and Pamela joined the women who remained in the great room. Maria had arrived, bearing homemade cookies, and Bernice had been on her heels, more o
r less.
The sound of men entering through the kitchen, who gave a wave as they headed upstairs to wash the day’s hard labor off them, told Pamela that the ranching work that had occupied them all—and likely kept Bernice and Maria hopping to provide lunch and tea for—was done for the day.
“I’m almost certain Abigail is going to be joining the boys when they head back to Houston,” Kate said. The look she had on her face was one of satisfaction. Her sons, Carson and Michael, were, Kate confided, completely enamored of Abigail. Benedict men, apparently, had a habit of falling in love once, and at first sight. Reminds me of Jessop men. Pamela liked Abigail and had her fingers crossed that she’d find love and happiness with the two Benedicts—one a businessman, the other a professor.
“I have complete faith in Carson’s ability to sweet talk her into doing just that,” Mattie said. “I also have complete faith that those two boys will have a care of her. Especially since I know their grandfathers and fathers have spoken with them.”
Chelsea nodded her agreement then looked around the room. She cocked her head in such a way as to suggest she was listening.
“Good. All the bedroom doors are closed. Now, Mattie?”
They’d gathered in the great room for more than just to relax. Maria had told her Mattie had news about the ongoing search for the men who’d swindled Pamela’s father.
“We finally know where those charlatans are. And it almost couldn’t be better for us.”
“How so, Mother?” Kate asked.
“Mr. Watson reports that Fred Thomas and Gary Morris have begun setting up shop in Durant, Oklahoma.”
“Oh my,” Madison said. “Is it not in Durant that your fathers-in-law had a great many friends, Chelsea?”
“It is, indeed,” Chelsea said.
Since Pamela had read Amanda Jessop-Kendall’s journal, as well as Sarah Carmichael Benedict’s, she recalled the stories of the connections between that generation and several members of the Smith family who’d settled in the area in the 1800s.
One Thanksgiving in Lusty, Texas Page 11