Every Perfect Gift (7 page)

She eyed the small treadle-powered jobber press sitting in the corner, grateful that Patsy Greer had left it behind when she closed up shop more than a decade before. Smaller and lighter than the rotary press, it could be set up in a matter of minutes and spit out a thousand impressions an hour. If only the rotary press were so efficient. Perhaps in a year or two she could afford a feeder press like the one the
New York Times
had installed years ago. That press kept ten men busy feeding the paper into rollers that pressed it against the cylinder of inked type. For now, such efficiency at her newspaper was only a dream.

She laid her completed sheets of newsprint on the counter to
dry and loaded the next tray of type into the press. Her stomach rumbled and she glanced at the clock in the outer office, realizing she’d completely missed the noon meal.

Oh well. The food at the Verandah Ladies’ Hotel, though plentiful, tended to be quite plain. The original owner, Mrs. Whitcomb, had passed on a few years before, and now her widowed niece, Lucy Partridge, ran the place. And though Lucy was sweet as could be, cooking was not her strong suit. Flora Burke, who lived on the third floor, was doing her best to help Lucy bring her cooking skills up a notch. In the meantime, beans and fried fatback and occasionally a dried-apple pie were about the best one could hope for.

Sophie’s stomach groaned again. Oh, for one of Wyatt’s steaks, a baked potato oozing with butter, and a pan of Ada’s buttermilk cornbread.

“Hello?”

Sophie peered into the outer office. “Mr. Heyward. Hello.” She removed her apron and smoothed her hair before going out to greet him.

“Sorry to call without an appointment. I had a few errands to run and a bit of business with Sheriff McCracken—” He broke off and grinned at her. “And no, I won’t answer any questions about it. It’s a private matter.”

“That’s too bad.” She smiled, enjoying their easy banter. “I’ve a spot to fill on the front page of next week’s issue. Are you certain you can’t give me a hint?”

“Maybe something newsworthy will happen before then.” He perched on the corner of her desk. “I’ve business to discuss, if you have time.”

“Certainly.” She slid into her chair and rolled a fresh sheet of paper into her typewriting machine.

He placed a stack of papers on her desk. “I need six hundred copies of these menus. Can you handle it?”

“Of course. When do you need them?” She drew her calendar across her desk and flipped the page. April was already half over. Where had the time gone?

“No big hurry,” he said. “We’re opening the first weekend in June, but of course I want to handle as many details as possible ahead of time.”

She nodded. “How about stationery? Business cards? Envelopes? If you place a larger order, I can give you a better price.”

He laughed. “Did your boss at the Dallas newspaper teach you that?”

“Nope. Wyatt Caldwell did. I watched him sell off cattle all the time. Everything I know about business, I learned from him.”

“Well then, I’ll take a thousand sheets of stationery, a thousand envelopes, and . . . three hundred business cards. How’s that?”

Her fingers flew across the typewriter keys. In a moment, she removed the completed order sheet and handed it to him. “There you are. My best price.”

He whistled. “Pretty steep.”

“I can do it for less if you want flimsy paper, but I wouldn’t recommend it. Not for a fancy place like Blue Smoke.”

“I want the best, of course.” He reached into his inside pocket. “How much do you want on deposit?”

“Fifty percent will be fine. I’ll have to order the better grade of paper, so the actual printing will take a little time, but I can have the proofs ready for you tomorrow. Shall I bring them to your office?” She handed him the order form and he signed it.

“That won’t be necessary. Mr. O’Brien will call for them. He’ll be coming into town anyway.” He handed her a couple of crisp bills and waited.

She fidgeted at his intent gaze, her cheeks warming beneath his scrutiny. Ethan Heyward truly had the most beautiful eyes. “Is there anything else?”

“Actually, there is. Blue Smoke will be finished at the end of May. I’m conducting a reception and tour for the newspaper and magazine reporters.
Harper’s
has agreed to send someone. So has the
Boston Globe
and several papers from around the state. I’m inviting you too. It’ll be a chance to meet your colleagues and to see how everything turned out.”

Feeling both pleased and surprised, Sophie could only nod. How wonderful it would be to meet others who shared her love of newspapering. But what on earth would she wear? The one fancy dress Ada had insisted she bring from Texas, just in case, wasn’t quite right for such an occasion, but the plain dresses and jackets she wore to the newspaper office each day were unlikely to make a favorable first impression. Her bank account wouldn’t allow for much extravagance. The sensible thing to do was to decline. And yet . . .

“Thank you.” She smiled into his eyes. “I’d like that.”

He nodded. “And something else. The Blakelys and I are hosting a ball the following night. Dinner, dancing, no expense spared. I’d be pleased to escort you.” His eyes met hers. “Unless you’ve some objection to mixing business with pleasure.”

She smoothed the folds of her skirt. Of course she wanted to spend a glittering evening at Blue Smoke. Who wouldn’t? It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Most folks in Hickory Ridge, including her, would never have a chance to set foot inside the resort once the opening-week excitement died down. And she liked Mr. Heyward very much, or she would if she allowed herself to dwell on it. But she couldn’t forget his apparent displeasure with the Chinese workers. If the taunts of her childhood were true, would he look at her in the same way? Maybe it was better to keep her distance despite her feelings. Keep their connection strictly business.

“I’m honored, Mr. Heyward, but—”

“O’Brien said I should ask you now, so you’d have time to buy a fancy dress.”

He looked boyish, so hopeful and shy, that she forgave his earlier attempts to manage the news and tamped down the unsettling feeling that he might be just as prejudiced as some others in Hickory Ridge. Perhaps it was only her own insecurities talking and she had misread him altogether. Perhaps he deserved the benefit of the doubt.

“Thank you. I’d love to come. It sounds wonderful.”

“I’ll look forward to it.” He headed for the door.

She leaned against the desk and watched him go. It was hard not to like Ethan Heyward, and she was flattered that he wanted her company for the ball. The question was, would he still want to dance with her once he read this week’s
Gazette
?

“You’re late,” Gillie whispered, sliding down the pew to make room for Sophie.

“Sorry,” Sophie whispered back.

The church was nearly full. Sophie spotted the Rutledges and Robbie’s parents sitting a few rows ahead of her. Sheriff McCracken sat on the aisle next to Jasper and Jeanne Pruitt. But where was Mr. Heyward? She felt a stab of disappointment at his absence. Perhaps he was too busy to come all the way to town so early on Sunday morning. Or perhaps he attended services at Blue Smoke with his men.

Sophie plopped down beside her new friend. “I went by the office to check on one small thing. Next thing I knew, half an hour had evaporated, just like that.” She snapped her fingers, causing the woman in front of her to turn around and frown.

Gillie elbowed Sophie and grinned. “There’s a reason we’re
not supposed to work on Sunday. It’s too easy to forget about the Lord.”

Robbie Whiting, dressed in a black suit, his wild blond hair slicked down, entered through a side door and crossed to the lectern, his Bible tucked under his arm. Sophie’s mind filled with memories of their shared childhood, and she thanked God for the one boy who had accepted her when no one else would.

Until the Caldwells came along, of course. Sophie closed her eyes, picturing them at Sunday worship in the big white church near their ranch: Ada still slim and stylish in a new spring hat, Wyatt handsome and grave, holding Wade and Lilly by the hand. A perfect family who knew where they came from and where they belonged—and who had accepted Sophie as their own.

But though she was loved, accepted, and treated like a daughter, she wasn’t a Caldwell and could never be. Who knew what she was?

Robbie welcomed everyone to the service, and the organist began playing an old hymn, one of Sophie’s favorites. The notes floated softly on the spring air that drifted through the windows:

In pastures green he bids me lie

In peace beneath his loving eye.

As the words soared heavenward, Sophie remembered Miss Lillian and how she’d sung those words, her voice high and reedy, as she puttered in her garden. Wyatt’s elderly aunt said contentment was a choice. But how was it possible to be truly at peace inside when there was so much she didn’t know, might never know, about who she was and where she came from?

For years she’d dreamed that one day her mother might still find her. In her loneliest moments, she’d prayed for it, and for a brief moment years ago it seemed possible her prayers might be answered. When Wyatt and Ada learned that a woman had
appeared in Hickory Ridge asking about a lost child, Wyatt hired the famous Pinkerton Detective Agency to investigate. But the woman disappeared, Pinkerton’s gave up in defeat, and eventually Sophie ceased praying for the impossible. Clearly, God did not intend to intervene.

Robbie concluded his sermon and pronounced the benediction. Gillie looped her arm through Sophie’s as the congregation filed out. “Now that we have paid our respects to the Almighty, how about some fun?”

Sophie studied her new friend. Since arriving in Hickory Ridge, she’d been so busy getting the paper up and running that fun had become a foreign idea. But the first issue was finally printed and out the door, and she felt like celebrating. “What did you have in mind?”

“Since the weather has been so warm lately, my parents invited a few people out to the house for a barbecue this afternoon. Daddy promised to let us ride the horses. You’re from Texas, so I figured you might be homesick for the wild open range.” She swept one hand toward the towering mountains. “Not exactly the same, but—”

“I’d love the chance to ride. I miss my horses something awful.” They made their way out of the church and into the bright spring sunshine. “Of course I don’t ride Cherokee anymore. She was Wyatt’s when he lived here, but he shipped her down home and gave her to me when I lost my little mare, Hickory. Cherokee’s getting pretty old, but I love her to bits.”

“I’m sure we can find you a suitable mount. Too bad Mr. Rutledge bought Majestic from Daddy. Majestic would have given you quite a time of it.”

“Sophie.” Robbie waved to them and hurried over. “You came. Hello, Miss Gilman.”

Gillie bobbed her head. “Reverend.”

“I looked for you,” Robbie said to Sophie, “but the church was so full I couldn’t see you.”

“A big congregation is a nice problem to have.” Sophie smiled at her old friend. “Everyone seemed to enjoy your sermon.”

“I try to keep it short and lively so Mr. Purdy and Mrs. Higginbottom won’t fall asleep before the doxology.” He grinned. “How are you? All settled in at the Verandah?”

“I’m fine. Missing Ada’s good cooking, though.”

The organist, a sweet-faced woman in a dark-blue bombazine dress and matching shawl, crossed the yard. “Good morning, Miss Gilman. I’m surprised to see you. Doc Spencer tells me you were up late last night helping him tend the Osborn girl.”

“I was, but I’m glad to report she’s much better. I’m exhausted, but I wouldn’t miss church on account of it. Sunday isn’t Sunday without Reverend Whiting’s sermon.”

Robbie smiled at Sophie and slid an arm around the woman’s waist. “Sophie Caldwell, I’d like you to meet my wife, Ethelinda.”

“I assumed as much.” Sophie nodded to the woman. “Happy to meet you. Robbie and I are old friends.”

“So I heard.” Ethelinda smiled up at her husband. “He says you were quite a storyteller back then. I’m sure your newspaper enterprise will benefit from your skills. And the town will certainly benefit from having a local paper.”

“I hope so.”

Ethelinda laid a hand on her husband’s arm. “Robert, dear, the Huffsteads are leaving, and the mister wants a word with you. I asked him to call at the parsonage this afternoon, but he insists it’s urgent.”