Every Perfect Gift (27 page)

The children at the orphanage were right. She was indeed a mixed-up muddlebones. But at least now she knew her own story. She knew her mother. And that knowledge gave her a certain kind of peace.

She reached the main street and hurried along the boardwalk toward her office, her footsteps hollow on the wooden boards. If Ethan loved her, maybe the one drop of long-diluted African blood was not enough to matter. Maybe his idea for helping her, whatever it turned out to be, would allow her to keep the newspaper.

Maybe everything would be all right after all.

“Now, Lutrell, what was it you came here to discuss?” Ethan pushed open the rear door leading to the children’s playground and motioned his visitor outside. “I thought you decided to stay in Alabama.”

“I wanted to, but what woman wants to hitch herself to a man who’s poor as a church mouse?” Lutrell Crocker jammed his hands deep into his pockets. “I was counting on that last bit of money from Blue Smoke to get us started out in life. Then Murphy stole it from me, and you wouldn’t do nothing about it.” He pulled a sack of tobacco from his pocket and took his time rolling himself a smoke. “Mary Susan sent me back here to get what’s mine. She won’t marry me until I do.”

Ethan pressed a hand to his eyes. “Lutrell, we have had this conversation already. Nothing has changed. Murphy is gone, and you have no proof that he stole anything.”

Crocker peered up at Ethan, his walrus mustache forming a set of parentheses around thin, tobacco-stained lips. “My word ain’t good enough for you, I reckon.”

“My offer to lend you the money still stands,” Ethan said. “Far be it from me to stand in the way of wedded bliss.”

“And my refusal still stands. I ain’t about to borry what’s already rightfully mine. But I got a business proposition for you.”

Ethan studied the man for a long moment, torn between exasperation and pity. “All right. I’m listening.”

Crocker fished a watch fob from his pocket and slid his fingers over the dark leather. For a moment, Ethan saw a spark of pride in the man’s faded eyes. “My granddaddy taught me how to weave leather when I was a young’un. Used to weave all sorts of things—belts, coin purses, and the like. He learnt it from his daddy, is what he told me.”

Ethan nodded. The mountains near Hickory Ridge were populated by fine crafters and fine musicians the rest of the world had yet to discover. He’d never imagined Lutrell as one of them, but he had to admit the watch fob was a superior piece of work.

“I reckon I could make you some more of these for that fancy gift shop up at Blue Smoke,” Lutrell said.

“The guests would pay a good price for something that well made,” Ethan said. “I’ll take half a dozen to start at, say, two dollars apiece. I’ll pay you half now and half on delivery. If they sell as well as I think they will, I’ll order more for next summer. Some of those belts and coin purses too.” He stuck out his hand. “You want to shake on it? Might be the start of a whole new line of work for you.”

Lutrell spat. “I got to get at least five bucks for ’em. At two dollars apiece, I’ll be old and gray ’fore I can save up enough to marry Mary Susan.”

Ethan’s patience snapped. He turned and started back inside. “Then we have nothing more to discuss. I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing. Now, excuse me; I’ve got to check on my crew and help them pack up.”

He was turning on his heel when Crocker lunged at him. Caught off guard, Ethan twisted and fell, his shoulder cracking against the hard-packed dirt of the playground, his spectacles skittering three feet away. Crocker fell across him and landed a solid blow to Ethan’s face. Warm blood spurted from his nose, spattering the front of his shirt.

Ethan grabbed the smaller man’s forearms and, with a sharp twist, ejected him onto the ground. Crocker rolled away and got up, his fists clenched, a murderous look in his bloodshot eyes.

Ethan reached for his glasses, then pulled out his handkerchief to stanch the flow of blood. A sharp pain needled his shoulder as he got to his feet and dusted off his dungarees. “Hit me again,
Lutrell, and you’ll find yourself keeping company with Sheriff McCracken.”

Crocker laughed. “That don’t surprise me none. Hiding behind the law rather than settling differences like a man.”

“I’m telling you to clear out now. And don’t come back. Understand?”

Crocker slapped his hat against his thigh to dislodge the dust. With a final glance at Ethan, he spat and sauntered down the road.

TWENTY-TWO

The back door squeaked open, letting in a blast of cold air. Caleb pushed inside, his arms laden with stacks of vellum. Sophie looked up from the jobber press, where she’d worked all afternoon making up a new stationery order for Mariah Whiting’s bookshop. Sophie couldn’t really afford such expensive paper, but Robbie had convinced her to establish a mail-order business selling stationery and business cards, and she needed something nicer than newsprint for corresponding with her new customers.

Caleb dumped the paper onto the counter and brushed his fingers together. “You still here?”

Last night both she and Caleb had worked late, poring over Miss Swint’s photographs for the special edition of the
Gazette
due out on Friday. Thanks to Ethan and his crew, all that remained before the official opening of the infirmary was to add the finishing touches. Sophie, Gillie, and several other ladies from Robbie’s church were meeting today to hang curtains and make the beds with the new linens and quilts the Ladies Benevolent Society had sewn. Mariah Whiting had promised to stock the children’s bookshelf with storybooks from her shop.

“I went home for a little while, but I couldn’t sleep. I’ve been here all day.” Sophie took her foot off the treadle and rubbed her
tired eyes. Thinking about everything that needed doing at the office had been only one reason for her wakefulness. Ethan, and their unfinished conversation, was the other.

“Gillie says Mr. Heyward sure did a fine job on the infirmary.” Caleb set about mixing the ink, pouring a cup of powder into the bucket, and carefully stirring in water. “She’s real excited about it.”

“It’s a wonderful thing for Hickory Ridge. And for Gillie. A dream come true for her.”

Caleb nodded. “I reckon. Only I wish she could think of something else sometimes.”

Sophie looked up at his earnest face. Holy cats. Caleb had gone sweet on Gillie, and Sophie hadn’t seen it coming. Not that she wasn’t pleased for him. But Gillie was older than Caleb, and so single-minded about her infirmary, Sophie wasn’t at all sure her friend had room in her life for a man, even someone as hardworking and honest as Caleb Stanhope.

She gathered the finished stationery order, stacked the sheets neatly, and placed them into a sturdy box for delivery to Mrs. Whiting. “Does Gillie know about your feelings, Caleb?”

“My—” He stopped stirring the ink and glanced away. “Does it show?”

“Only when you mention her name.” Sophie grinned and retrieved the set of business cards she’d just printed for a gentlemen’s emporium in Knoxville.

“I haven’t said anything to her, and I wish you wouldn’t either.” Caleb tossed some broken pieces of type into the bucket to be melted and recast. “I mean, I think an awful lot of her, but she’s older than me, and she’s educated, and I’m—”

“One of the smartest, kindest men I know,” Sophie said. “I’m not much older than you, so maybe I’m not the most qualified person to give advice—”

“You do pretty well as the Answer Lady,” Caleb said. “I happen
to know we got ten new subscription orders yesterday, not to mention that bag of mail I picked up from the post office.”

“Don’t change the subject. If you want to court Gillie, then make a plan for your future. Show her that you intend to look after her, even if she doesn’t think she needs it.” She smiled. “Every woman wants to feel that her man will cherish and protect her, no matter how much schooling she’s had.”

“I reckon so.” Caleb leaned against the counter, the last of the oyster-colored light falling on his shoulders. “And I’ve been thinking about that. The truth is, I like newspapering an awful lot. I know I’m not much of a speller, but I’m good with the presses and selling advertising and such. And since there’s no room for me at Blue Smoke or at the mill, I’ve applied to Mr. Ochs over at the
Chattanooga Times
. If he takes me on, I can send money home to Ma and the boys. And maybe someday I can save up enough to ask Gillie to marry me.”

Sophie’s mind whirled. Even though Caleb worked only two days a week at the
Gazette
, doing without his help would be difficult. But others had made her dream possible. How could she hold him back from reaching for his?

“I shouldn’t have dropped the news on you like this,” Caleb said. “Should’ve waited till I heard back from the
Times
.” He shrugged and went back to picking broken type from the wooden trays. “They may not have a job for me anyway.”

“If they do, then you must take it. I’ll manage somehow.” Sophie sighed. “I may not be able to publish the
Gazette
much longer anyway, despite those new subscriptions. Paper and ink are getting more expensive all the time. And so far, Mr. McClure has bought only two of my articles.”

“I thought Mr. Heyward was going to help you.”

“He said he had an idea, but he never said what it was. And I haven’t seen him in over a week. Too busy at Blue Smoke, I imagine.”

“I saw him at the post office yesterday,” Caleb said. “He was with that tall, dark-haired fellow. They seemed mad as two old roosters.”

Sophie nodded. So Julian Worth, whoever he was, was back in town. Or maybe he never left. At any rate, maybe that explained why Ethan had not stopped in to see her.

Caleb loaded a stack of newsprint onto the press. “Might as well get this first page printed up before I head home.”

Sophie shook her head. “It’ll keep. It’s late. Go home and get some rest.”

“You’re not sore at me about leaving?”

She mustered a smile for him. “Someone else gave me a chance to learn this business. I can’t very well stand in the way of your taking your chance.”

“I’m real happy you understand. But please don’t say anything to Gillie about—”

“Would I steal your thunder on something as important as your future?”

Caleb grabbed his cap off the hat tree and went out the back door, whistling.

Sophie lit the lamp against the November gloom and took a seat at her desk. She sorted through the mail, setting aside a stack of bills, a couple of subscription payments, and a thick letter from Ada, which she tucked into her pocket to read later. Then she opened the bag of mail addressed to the Answer Lady, picked up her silver-handled letter opener, and slit open the first envelope.

Dear Answer Lady,

When was Daniel Webster born and where did he grow up? Why did he rite a dictionary? Please anser in next Monday’s Gazette. My report is due Thursday. Thank you.

Sophie smiled at the misspellings and the nature of the question. It wasn’t the first letter she’d received seeking a shortcut to a school assignment, but it was the most honest.

She opened another envelope and took out a single sheet written in pencil.

Dear Answer Lady,

My baby died. Why does God allow suffering like that? Thank you.

Sophie closed her eyes. Why indeed? Just last Sunday Robbie had preached a sermon on suffering. He spoke of the suffering of Job and the trials of the apostle Paul and reminded his flock that God didn’t promise a shield from suffering, but rather spiritual sustenance in the midst of it. Ada often said that suffering made one stronger. Maybe it did. But such an answer seemed inadequate, a pale thing to offer this heartbroken mother.

Footsteps sounded outside, followed by a sharp knock on the door. Sophie lifted her lamp and went to answer it.

“Miss Caldwell?”

Julian Worth stood in the doorway, backlit by the streetlamps just coming on, a leather pouch tucked under his arm. He wore neither a coat nor gloves. “I apologize for barging in like this, but I need your help. It’s about Ethan Heyward.”

Her heart lurched. “Is he all right?”

“He isn’t sick or hurt, if that’s what you mean. But the truth is, Ethan hasn’t truly been all right since we were children. I’ve been trying to fix that ever since June, but he’s too angry with me to listen.”