by Janice Hanna
JANICE HANNA
Summerside Press™
Minneapolis 55337
www.summersidepress.com
Love Finds You in Daisy, Oklahoma
© 2012 by Janice Hanna
ISBN 978-1-60936-593-6
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.
All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
The town depicted in this book is a real place, but all characters are fictional. Any resemblances to actual people or events are purely coincidental.
Cover design by Garborg Design Works | www.garborgdesign.com
Cover photo of model and sky © Susan Fox / Trevillion Images
Cover photo of daisies by iStock
Back cover photo and mountain photo on page 7 courtesy Oklahoma
Tourism and Recreation Department
Photo on spine by Bigstock
Interior design by Müllerhaus Publishing Group | www.mullerhaus.net
Summerside Press™ is an inspirational publisher offering fresh, irresistible books to uplift the heart and engage the mind.
Printed in USA.
Dedication
Dedicated to the memory of my uncle, Gene Wyatt.
Special thanks to Ellen Doughten and the many other Facebook friends who helped me come up with hooligan-like pranks to include in this story. I have to wonder what you were like as kids!
And to William and Jacob. “Snips and snails and puppy dog tails” doesn’t even come close.
RUMOR HAS IT THAT DAISY, OKLAHOMA—LOCATED IN ATOKA County, just off of Highway 43—was named after a local girl named Daisy Beck. It was once a thriving community boasting a general store, a school, a post office, and other places of business.
Today, little remains of this once-upon-a-time town. If you blink when you drive by, you might miss it. However, the land around Daisy is as beautiful as ever. I know this from personal experience, having been through the area this past year. Rolling hills capture the imagination, and the trees are so green you might think they were painted onto the landscape with an artist’s brush. On second thought, they were! The Lord Himself surely blessed this little patch of ground with an extra splash of beauty.
As I set out to write this whimsical tale, the melody to “Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do” became my theme song. I couldn’t help but use it in the story.
I pray you enjoy your trip to Daisy as much as I did. May you see the spirit of the people of Oklahoma on each page, and may the antics of the children remind you of your carefree childhood days.
Janice Hanna
Chapter One
TIPS FOR DEALING WITH UNRULY YOUNG’UNS—The Bible commands strict discipline when it comes to the raising of children. With all the hooligans wreaking havoc in our little town, we have no choice but to come down on them with a firm hand. “Spare the rod, spoil the child”—that’s my motto. Not everyone takes such a strong stance when it comes to Daisy’s children, of course. I know I’m often alone in my principles, especially where the sheriff is concerned. ’Course, he’s got his hands full with those two rapscallion boys of his. But, by gum, I plan to rid this town of childish nonsense if it’s the last thing I do. And if it means tanning a few hides along the way, well, so be it.
—Molly Harris, Daisy Resident and Chairwoman of the “Fresh as a Daisy” Committee
Daisy, Oklahoma, Early September, 1912
The Atoka County jail housed no prisoners that Monday morning unless one counted the local sheriff. After the verbal thrashing he’d just received from Molly Harris, Gene Wyatt felt like hiding out in one of the cells for the rest of the day.
He pulled off his Stetson and hurled it at the hat rack. “Crazy busybody. Who does she think she is, anyway?”
For a moment, he wondered what it would feel like to toss the town’s crankiest senior citizen into an empty cell and throw away the key. Wouldn’t that make a great article for the Atoka County Register? He could almost picture the headline now: LOCAL WOMAN RETHINKS HER MEDDLING WAYS FROM BEHIND BARS. Surely the other residents of Daisy would back him up.
On the other hand, they might turn on him. Stranger things had happened of late. Folks who’d once claimed to be his friends had turned cold shoulders to him after hearing Molly’s repeated tirades about his boys. Many seemed to share her concerns.
Releasing a slow breath, Gene tried to calm down. Unfortunately, Molly’s words weren’t easy to shake off. They’d stung, worse than he cared to admit, but what could he do? His hands were already too full, what with raising the boys alone.
He made his way to his dreary office, eased his way into the chair behind his messy desk, and began to thumb through the mail, which he’d just fetched from the postmaster. Minutes later, he still found himself mulling over the elderly woman’s criticism of his two sons. Sure, William and Jacob were a handful—there was no denying that—but did she really have to call them hooligans? They were only eight and ten, after all. Far too young to be accused of such nonsense. And that comment about how they might end up serving time was way out of line.
He paused. The way things were headed, they could very well end up going down the wrong road. If only they still had a mother to guide them, then maybe…
No, he wouldn’t think like that. The two years since Brenda’s death had been dreadful, but the pain of losing her lessened more with each passing day. No point in resurrecting it. The boys would be fine. He would see to it. In the meantime, he had work to do—plenty of it.
A familiar voice rang out from the front office, interrupting his thoughts.
“Son, are you here?”
He recognized his mother’s voice at once. Gene did his best to shake off his concerns before facing her. No point in letting her know how he felt about Molly’s accusations.
“I’m here,” he managed.
His mother entered his office, the somber look on her face a direct contradiction to the cheerful yellow dress and matching flower-laden hat. “I guess you heard from Molly. She’s wound up tighter than your grandfather’s clock.”
Gene did his best not to sigh aloud. “I think everyone in town heard her tirade. I wish she would keep her thoughts to herself. At the very least, she needs to learn to control her volume so as not to raise the dead.”
“She’s plenty worked up, that’s sure and certain.” His mother removed her fashionable hat, which left her upswept hair a bit disheveled. She pressed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and the crinkles around her soft blue eyes deepened. “I’ve seen her frazzled before, but not like this.”
Gene rested against the edge of his desk. “Not sure what to say in my own defense.”
“No need to say anything. She’s just a bitter old woman who loves to complain. But she does have a point about some of the boys—not just William and Jacob, but the boys from the orphanage too. She counts them all as one since they’re comrades and coconspirators in mischief.”
“I understand that. I really do.” He felt his anger growing as Molly’s words flitted through his mind. “But to call them rabble-rousers? Sounds like something she read in one of those ridiculous dime novels. And to say the boys are going to destroy the town if someone doesn’t take action—what sort of talk is that? Does she have to be so melodramatic?”
“Slight exaggeration, but not by much.” His mother gave him a thoughtful look. “William and Jacob and the other boys have been up to tricks again.” She placed her hat on his desk then took to fussing with her hair once again.
“I know, I know.” He thumbed through several papers
on his desk, hoping she would change the direction of this conversation instead of elaborating. Surely she knew how awkward this was for him.
His mother leaned forward and whispered, “You do know they were swimming nude at Old Man Tucker’s pond yesterday, don’t you? Naked as jaybirds, all of them.”
“Not a criminal offense,” Gene said. “And why are we whispering?”
“Don’t want folks to hear. It’s so embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing? Boys swimming without clothes?” He laughed. “Mother, you worry too much about what others think. You always have.”
Carolina Wyatt had never been one to give up on an argument easily and she didn’t this time, either. Instead, she flinched but then lit right back into the conversation. “True. But the way those boys run willy-nilly from here to there with no adult supervision, it’s a wonder they don’t get hurt. They tied a rope to that big tree in my front yard last Saturday, and William nearly hung himself with it. Scared me to death.”
Gene shrugged it off. “They told me. But nothing came of it except a scraped knee when he fell. And if it makes you feel any better, he was fully dressed when the incident occurred. If you’d stopped by to report that he was climbing trees in his birthday suit, I’d be a little more concerned. As it is, he’s fine.”
A half smile crept across his mother’s face. “Yes, he’s fine; that’s true.” She took a seat in the chair opposite his desk. “But not everyone in town is fine with the children’s actions. You heard what the boys did to Mrs. Wabash, didn’t you?”
“What this time?” He looked her way, waiting for the inevitable story to unfold.
His mother leaned forward and placed her hands on his desk. “They snuck into her wardrobe and stole her unmentionables. Then they ran them up the flagpole in the square just this morning, along with a notice that the things belonged to her.”
Gene stifled a chuckle as he forced the image of the orphanage’s soon-to-be-leaving director out of his mind. “Oh, is that all?”
“Is that all?” His mother’s cheeks flushed pink. “Clearly you know nothing about women, or you would understand the humiliation in that story. Mrs. Wabash feels she can’t show her face in town. Not that she’s planning on staying in town much longer, of course.”
“I shouldn’t think it would be her face she’d be afraid of showing.” He couldn’t help the laugh that followed.
His mother leaned back in the chair, the wrinkles around her eyes growing deeper as she gazed his way. “Honestly, you’re as bad as the children.”
At this, Gene sobered a bit. “I’m not excusing their behavior,” he said. “But let’s face it. Running Mrs. Wabash’s unmentionables up the flagpole is hardly the equivalent of burning down the orphanage. And as for her leaving town, I can’t say I’m altogether sorry. She’s never cared much for the children, from what I can see. The director of an orphanage should at least pretend to care for the children she’s supervising, don’t you think?”
“Of course. But don’t be so quick to judge her, Gene. You don’t know what she’s thinking or feeling. Besides, she gave more than a year of her life to those boys and girls and feels she’s done her part.”
“I suppose.”
“And as for how she’s feeling about the children, please keep in mind that they’ve tormented her almost from the beginning. That flagpole stunt wasn’t their only injustice against her. The boys put a dead possum behind the heating grate in her room. From what I’ve been told, the stench was unbearable.”
“Boys will be boys.” He found himself ready to be done with this conversation.
“Yes, they will.” His mother crossed her arms and gave him a pensive look. “I raised one myself. And he turned out pretty well, if you don’t mind my saying so, so I feel confident I can speak on this subject with some authority.”
“Well, of course.” Gene squared his shoulders and prepared himself for another challenging conversation.
Her gaze narrowed. “Look, son, I know you feel caught in the middle where William and Jacob are concerned, but, in case you don’t realize it, you always give the same excuse when the children act up.”
“I do?” He looked her way, confused by her words.
“Yes. And it’s true that boys will be boys, but there’s a time and a place for boyish shenanigans. And you might remember how you got quite a few spankings when your pranks went awry. Your boys and their friends need good, honest discipline.”
“I’m doing my best with William and Jacob. But without Brenda…” He pushed back the lump in his throat and shook his head. If anyone could understand this, it would be his mother. She’d walked this road with him. Knew how desperately he and the boys missed Brenda—her tenderness, her laughter, and her indomitable spirit. Every dream they had ever shared was swept away in that awful tornado. Now he was left alone to piece things back together, whether he felt like it or not.
“I know, son.” His mother drew near and gave him a pat on the arm. “I don’t mean to scold. Really. I’m just trying to offer a bit of helpful advice.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“They just wear me out, that’s all. Wait until you hear what William did this morning.”
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Carried a mess of catfish into my house and asked me to clean them.”
“I haven’t had fried catfish in ages. Sounds good.”
“Yes, well, he dragged in the stench of worms and mud all over my freshly mopped floor. But here’s the kicker. He caught those fish in Old Man Tucker’s pond. The poor old fella chased him off his property and all the way to my front door. I’ve never seen anyone so angry.”
“Mother, boys will be—” Gene stopped himself from finishing it.
“The more time William and Jacob spend with their old friends, the more likely they’ll end up in trouble. They need a woman in their lives to teach them right from wrong.”
“They have you. You’re the best grandmother in town.”
She grunted. “Maybe. But even the best grandmother in town can’t handle seventeen orphans and your two boys by herself. Once Mrs. Wabash leaves, those children will need someone who’s still young enough—and hardy enough—to tackle the challenges they present. I’m old, and I’m tired. I don’t have it in me to stay on top of their every move.”
“You’re doing fine.”
“No, I’m not. They’re faster than I am. You should’ve seen me following along behind Old Man Tucker as he chased William across the yard. Poor old fella was only dressed in his skivvies. Apparently they caught him unawares.”
“I understand, Mother.” He did, of course. But what could he do about it? Every attempt had already been made, every avenue exhausted. And speaking of exhausted, wasn’t that the real issue here? He’d worn himself out trying to fix children who didn’t care to be fixed. They simply wanted to be children. Rowdy, undisciplined children.
His mother offered a sympathetic look. “If you ask my opinion—and I know you didn’t, but I’m offering it anyway—William and Jacob need a bit of separation from their friends at the orphanage. Not all the time, mind you, but occasionally. Promise me you’ll pray about it. The Lord will guide you, I’ve no doubt.”
Gene laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back, nearly ready to admit defeat. “I know they’re a handful, but they’re good boys at heart…in spite of their antics. It’s only been two and a half years since Brenda and I took them into our home. They still consider those other children at the orphanage their real brothers and sisters. And now that they’ve lost the only mother they’ve ever known…”
“I know, son.”
“At any rate, it’s obvious we need help.” Gene raked his fingers through his hair. “I’ve written to the head of the missions organization, in the hopes that he can send someone. If we have to shut down the orphanage, the children will be sent elsewhere. You know what that means—they’ll all be separated. Brothers and sisters will be torn apart. Can you imagine wh
at that will do to them?” The very idea made him feel ill.
“I don’t think that will happen. I’ve taken the liberty of writing my best friend, Marla, in South Carolina. Do you remember her?”
“Of course.”
“Her daughter, Janelle, is thirty-four and widowed. She has a young daughter about William’s age. I think she would be the perfect choice.”
Gene’s spirits lifted at once. “Wait. Are you saying that she’s agreed to take on the orphanage? We won’t need someone from the missions society after all?” His heart felt lighter. What wonderful news. This will solve everything.
His mother shook her head. “She’s not free to come until early May. Until then, we need a plan. A solid plan. Otherwise, I’m afraid the orphanage will come under the scrutiny of you-know-who.” She waggled her brows.
Gene knew, all right. Mayor Albright had been intent on tearing down the orphanage from the beginning, garnering most of his information from Molly Harris. Gene wouldn’t let that happen. Couldn’t let that happen. He’d grown to love those children—every last rowdy one of them. And he’d be hanged before he saw them separated or farmed out to unwilling families.
In the meantime, it looked as if he had a lot of praying to do.
Chapter Two
TIPS FOR DEALING WITH UNRULY YOUNG’UNS—Children need to be loved and nurtured. They’re looking for direction, of course, and discipline. But most of all, they’re longing for someone to take an interest in them—to care about the things that matter to them. They need someone who will kneel to their level and offer encouragement, particularly when things get rough. We don’t all have the luxury of a great upbringing. Some children face unique challenges. With those, we need to be more kindhearted than ever. Most children are starving for affection. A little goes a long, long way, especially with those who need it most.