Tabitha: Bride of Missouri (American Mail-Order Bride 24) (8 page)

Chapter Nine

Tabitha hadn’t expected to see Thomas waiting for her at the train station, and it had unsettled her. How would she slip the letter into the mix without calling attention to herself? At the last moment, she had the idea to drop some mail on the floor, which gave her the chance to grab his envelope from the shelf under the counter. He didn’t seem to notice anything amiss, so she counted that a success.

He’d seemed so pleased to get the letter that she felt a momentary stab of guilt, but that faded as she thought about the alternative. He must never know how rudely his bundle had been returned.

Clara entered the post office a few minutes later, bringing a gust of cold air in with her. “Was finally able to get a job,” she said as she wrestled the door closed against the wind.

“You were? That’s wonderful. Where?”
“Kitchen staff at the saloon. But listen to me.” She came closer and leaned on the counter. “You can’t tell Herbert. He made me promise that I’d never work in a saloon.”

“I’m not sure I want to lie to him,” Tabitha said. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Of course it’s not a good idea, and I don’t like lying to him either. But what other choice do we have? This post office simply doesn’t bring in enough revenue. The town is small—we don’t handle a lot of mail. Big offices like New York—they handle so much mail, they have countless employees and pay all their salaries.” She shook her head. “Unless you can somehow double the amount of mail going through here, I’m taking that job.”

Tabitha nodded, and Clara went through to the kitchen.

It was hard to hear, but truth was truth, and Clara was right. They simply didn’t generate the kind of income they needed to stay afloat as a family, and after losing that five hundred dollars . . . Again, Tabitha felt guilty for coming back and adding to the expenses, but then she realized that if she hadn’t come back, Clara would still need to look for work, and Herbert’s health would still be poor. Who would run the office then? Perhaps she’d been brought home by a providential hand.

The next person to enter the post office was Mr. Parker. He too wrestled with the door until it closed. “My, that’s quite the wind,” he said with a chuckle. “I practically blew down the street right along with all the leaves.”

“And you can just blow yourself right out again,” Clara said, striding in from the kitchen. “You’re not wanted here, Lem Parker.”

“I know that, Clara, and I understand all the reasons why. I hoped that if I had the chance to explain—”

“Explain? You’d like to explain how it is that you talked my husband out of five hundred dollars and then proceeded to lose that money on a land investment? Have you come to tell me that’s not true and give back that money?”
“Well, no, but—”

“Then I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.” Clara took a step back into the hallway.

“Wait! Listen, please. I lost money too. You aren’t the only ones hurting.”

Clara came forward again, a look in her eyes Tabitha knew well. She felt sorry for Mr. Parker, who had no idea what was about to happen.

“Tell you something, Lem. I saw your wife at church on Sunday in her brand-new silk dress and her little velvet cape. Maybe you lost money, but you aren’t hurting. You don’t know the meaning of hurting. Herbert’s upstairs right now, all the strength sapped right out of him. Now, maybe I’d understand if this was all some honest mistake, but you promised Herbert this deal would go through. You called on his friendship to ask him to speculate. You promised and you lied and you connived, and my husband believed you. My husband, who would never name  a snake a snake.”

She took a few steps, her eyes like lightning bolts. “I will, though. You are a snake. Maybe you lost money too. I don’t know. But when you make promises and my family is left with nothing, and then your wife shows up in burgundy silk and flounces down the church aisle, and you come here to talk about hurting, I find I don’t want to listen. Now I suggest that you leave right now before I pick up the nearest sharp object and chase you out of here with it.”

Mr. Parker nodded several times as he backed toward the door. “Of course. I understand. Good afternoon, ladies.” He couldn’t get the door closed fast enough to suit any of them.

“Well done,” Tabitha said, turning to her cousin. “I didn’t see Mrs. Parker at church. Where was she sitting?”

“Left side, under the window.” Clara leaned against the doorframe, suddenly looking wrung out. “Coffee?”

“Yes, please. But let me make it. You hold down the office—we’re having a very quiet day.”

Clara pulled a kitchen chair into the post office and sat down to wait as Tabitha made the coffee. It made her happy to open up the bag she’d been given and use it instead of the meager stores in the kitchen canister. It felt like more of a contribution. She brought another chair out to the office, then the two cups, and they sat there together and watched people get blown by outside.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have yelled,” Clara said after a long moment.

“You didn’t yell. You were calm, but very clear.”

“Must have been yelling in my head, though. Someone was.” Clara took another sip. “This is good. Different from what I usually get.”

“I don’t know what kind it is—it didn’t say on the package.”

“I’ll take some up to Herbert in a minute.” She paused. “You won’t say anything to him about the saloon?”
“I won’t. I promise,” Tabitha said, better able to understand the situation now that she’d seen the depth of Clara’s feelings about it.

“Thank you.”

They sat together for another few minutes, then Clara hoisted herself to her feet. Tabitha put the chairs back and grabbed a dust rag. The same old routine, but now she felt a sense of purpose in it—she was helping keep a family afloat. Running the post office meant they all had a place to live.

***

Thomas had spent the last hour dragging his leftover pieces of lumber from the back of the house over to the corner of the property where he intended to build the shed. He’d thought about it long and hard—should he even be thinking about improving the place when he might not be able to keep it? He’d eventually decided that he needed to press forward. It would give him something to do while he recovered, and it might bring him more money if he had to sell.

Sell. He didn’t want to sell. It had taken him a long time to be able to afford this place, and while it was tiny and still in need of repairs, it was his. Turning it over to someone else would be difficult, especially without knowing if he’d ever be able to afford another. His father would find jobs for him to do on the ranch, but none of them would pay enough for a house, and he didn’t like the idea of asking his parents for money. They believed in working for what they got, and so did he.

He just wasn’t sure how a one-handed man was to go about that.

He’d always done physical labor, but perhaps the answer was to change tack. He could probably work in an office or something similar. He’d have to learn how to write with his left hand, but he knew it could be done. He’d read an article in the newspaper some time back about that very thing. Or perhaps there would be a way to use whatever muscles did still work in his right hand and balance the pen just so.

The whinny of a horse startled him, and as he watched Hoss ride up, he realized he was thinking about this far too much. Yes, it was good to have a plan and to know what he would do, but it was festering in his brain, and he needed to put a stop to that. All he had was the here and now, and it was time to get busy.

“Thanks for coming,” he said as soon as Hoss was within earshot. “I’m eager to get going.”

“I can see that. Is this all the wood?”

“It is. Now that it’s laid out, I do think we’re going to need more.”

Hoss nodded. “Let’s make some plans, and then we’ll see how far we get.”

The sun was already lowering in the sky, so they didn’t have much time. They made good use of what they had, though, and sketched out a design. Hoss sawed a few pieces of wood, then drove a nail partway and passed the hammer to Thomas. “Let’s see how good your idea is.”

Thomas took it with his left hand, where it felt strange, and lined it up above the nail. Then he gave a few sharp taps. The nail instantly curled to the side.

“Hmm. I don’t think that was quite what you meant to do.” Hoss used the claw side of the hammer to dig out the nail, then drove in another. “Try again.”

Thomas did, with the same result.

Hoss scratched his neck. “I don’t know how many nails you want to ruin on this project. Think maybe I should do the hammering?”

“They’re not ruined. They can be bent back into shape,” Thomas protested.

“Yeah, well, watching you do it is bending
me
out of shape. There’s got to be another task around here that you could do.”

“I’ve figured out how to shovel some, and I can sweep my kitchen floor. I’ve even dunked my dishes in hot water a time or two.” Thomas grinned, but it faded quickly. “Dr. Gideon says there’s a chance I might not get the feeling back in my hand.”

“What?” Hoss instantly became serious. “I’m sorry, Scott. That’s a rotten blow.”

“Nothing’s for certain, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell Mr. Charles, all right?”

“Of course. So, when will you know?”

Thomas shrugged. “We have to wait for the bones to heal and cast to come off before we’ll know much of anything. In the meantime, I’m going to stay busy. I hereby make you the official nail pounder, and I will be your faithful assistant.”

By the time it was full dark, they’d built a frame for one wall of the shed. It wasn’t much, but it was a start, and it gave Thomas something to look forward to for the next day. He needed that.

Chapter Ten

Tabitha was mildly disappointed when Thomas didn’t meet her at the train the next morning. She shouldn’t have been—he had no obligation to be there—but still, she missed him. He’d become such a bright spot in her life so quickly, it was surprising how much he’d come to mean to her.

She arrived back at the post office and unlocked the door. She was sorting the mail when Clara tiptoed through, her shawl pulled high on her neck.

“Heading over to the saloon,” she said, her voice low. “I’ve just taken Herbert his breakfast. He says he’s feeling well enough that he might go out to the shed later and work on some of his tin orders. If he asks where I am, tell him  . . . well, tell him something, all right?”

Tabitha nodded. She’d better decide now what that “something” would be so she wouldn’t hesitate when the time came.

Clara slipped through the door, looked both ways, then headed off toward the saloon. Tabitha wished her cousin didn’t feel like she had to sneak around. Working in the kitchen of a saloon was really no different from working at a restaurant, but the townspeople would likely take a dim view of it. Tabitha had to admire her cousin for what she was willing to do for her family.

A moment later, Mrs. Smith came in, looking over her shoulder. “Good morning, Tabitha. Tell me something.” She edged forward and whispered, “Did I just see Clara going into the saloon?”
Oh, no. Mrs. Smith, while being a kind, caring woman, was also the biggest gossip in Atwater, and this was highly likely to get around.  Tabitha thought over all her options, but realized that her best choice was simply to tell the truth.

“She’s taken a job in the kitchen. Please, Mrs. Smith, don’t tell anyone. Of course people will see her going in, but if we can do anything to keep them from thinking things . . .”

Mrs. Smith reached across the counter and patted Tabitha’s hand. “You can count on me. Now help me mail some letters, and then let’s chat.”

Tabitha accepted the four letters Mrs. Smith had brought in and tucked them under the counter. “What would you like to chat about?”

“You and the pastor, of course. How is that going?”

Tabitha smiled. “He did mention that you’d sent him my way.”

“How could I not? You’re the very picture of everything he’s looking for. Are you getting along well?”

“Actually, we’ve decided to be friends.”

Mrs. Smith raised an eyebrow. “Friends? A man and a woman can’t be friends! If they’re not courting, they should avoid each other entirely.”

Tabitha chuckled. “But why?”

“To avoid temptation.” Mrs. Smith lowered her voice and glanced around. “If there are no serious intentions, the devil can have his way.”

Tabitha leaned forward and lowered her voice as well. “The devil will not be having his way here, Mrs. Smith. I assure you.” She straightened and said a little louder, “Besides, I don’t think Pastor Reed is quite the big, strapping fellow you had in mind when I first got here. You remember—the one who was supposed to kiss me.”
“He might not match that description exactly, but he’d do in a pinch.” Mrs. Smith bobbed her head. “But be careful, young lady. The kiss and the courtship should go together. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes, I do. And I’ll be very careful.”

Mrs. Smith seemed content with that answer and went on her way. Tabitha had to wipe her cheeks—it had been so difficult to hold back her laughter, her eyes were watering.

A moment later, she heard Herbert’s lumbering gait on the stairs, and then he called out for his wife. Tabitha stepped over to the doorway. “She’s not here, Herbert. She took Mrs. Watkins her mail—she’s not feeling well enough to come in. She also wanted a visit, so I’m not sure how long Clara will be gone.”

“I’ll be in the tin shed. Getting behind on orders.”

Tabitha nodded. “Come in around noon and I’ll make us some lunch.”

He didn’t respond, but Tabitha knew he’d come in. He was a man of routine.

The door opened again, and Tabitha held back a sigh. The office had been so quiet the day before, and now, it felt like she’d never get the mail sorted. This time, it was Pastor Reed who had come in.

“Miss Phillips, I’m taking your advice to heart.” He held up an envelope. “This is an advertisement to be placed in the
Grooms’ Gazette
. It’s a paper printed in Massachusetts that helps men find mail-order brides. I can correspond with her for some time before making any final decisions.” He paused. “What is it? You seem surprised.”

“I am. Quite surprised.” Tabitha shook her head and smiled. “I know that paper very well. I lived in Massachusetts, if you’ll recall, and several of my friends recently decided to become mail-order brides.”

“That is quite the coincidence. I only heard of it the other day. I happened to be down at the train station to see off a parishioner and spoke with a woman who was on her way to Colorado to get married. She told me about the newspaper, and I decided to give it a try. Do you think I’m making a mistake?”

Tabitha rested her elbows on the counter and thought about it. “I don’t know. You’ve exhausted every possibility here in town?”
“I have. You were my last remaining hope.”
“Then I suppose you need to start looking in other towns. What about some of the other places where you’ve lived?”

“I’ve thought about that, but none of the young ladies I met there seemed to be right either. If I’d had romantic feelings for any of them, I’m sure I would have noticed.”

“I don’t know . . . I think you probably would have ignored those feelings altogether,” Tabitha lightly teased him. “You’ve become so used to thinking like a pastor, you’ve forgotten how to think like a man.”

“And in most cases, that’s a very good thing,” he reminded her. He slid the letter across the counter. “Wish me luck.”

“I do wish you every bit of luck. I hope you find her without too much difficulty.”

“I hope she’s somewhere to be found. But there are more ladies back east than there are here, so I’m guessing my odds will go up.”

“That’s very true.”

The pastor took a step back as if to leave, but then paused. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about Thomas Scott. Did he happen to mention to you the nature of his injury or how long he’ll be in that cast? I wondered if there was anything I could do, but I hoped for more information before I approached him.”

“He works at the lumber mill, and a log crushed his hand,” she replied. “He’ll be in the cast another three weeks or so.”

“Thank you. I believe I’ll go pay a call—surely there’s some way I can be of help.”

***

Tabitha asked Herbert to keep an eye on the post office while she pulled together a quick cold lunch of bread and sliced meat. They ate in silence, and Herbert didn’t even comment on Clara’s absence. Tabitha was grateful for that. The one lie she’d told him was more than enough for her.

After he finished eating, Herbert went to rest for a while, and Tabitha finally had a moment to finish sorting the mail. Then Thomas came in, his usual grin on his face, and her entire day became better.

“Hello,” he said, walking up to the counter. “Are you in the mood to write a letter?”

“Of course I am.” She reached for a pen and paper, but hesitated as she had a sudden thought. “I’m curious, though. Why haven’t you written your parents about your accident? Surely they’d want to know.”

“Well, that’s a good question.” Thomas studied the surface of the counter for a moment. “My mother would just worry, and my father . . . well, he never thought I had much of a future off the ranch. He’d take this as some sort of divine sign that I never should have left home. So I thought I’d write to them after the fact, after I’m all healed up so there isn’t as much to tell and there isn’t anything to worry about.”

His smile had disappeared, and Tabitha sensed there was more to this story. “Is something else the matter?” she asked. “I don’t mean to pry. I just wondered if there was anything I could do.”

He let out a long breath. “I haven’t been able to move my fingers.” He laid his arm on the counter, palm up. “See? I’m trying to wiggle them, but they aren’t responding. Dr. Gideon says it might get better over time, or perhaps it won’t. I don’t want to tell my parents until I know . . . until I know for sure.”

Tabitha’s heart ached for this man. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have asked—you probably weren’t ready to talk about it.”

“No, that’s all right. In fact, I’m glad you know. It helps lift the burden.” He blinked a couple of times and then smiled. “Now let’s write this letter, shall we? And stop being so gloomy. It’s just a hand. Maybe that’s why God gave us two—so we’d have a spare if something happened to the first one.”

Tabitha laughed and picked up her pen.

After Thomas left, Tabitha decided it was time to send Thomas another letter from Ivy. What should she say this time? She glanced at the calendar and counted back to see about when “Ivy” would have mailed it. Yes, school would have started—she could write about that.

She pulled out another sheet of paper and had just started jotting down some notes when Darcy came wandering in. Oh, wonderful—just what Tabitha needed.

“Well, hello there, Miss Atwater,” Darcy said, pulling off her gloves and setting them on the counter. Tabitha didn’t think it was cold enough outside to warrant gloves, but perhaps Darcy just wanted to show them off. They were trimmed with beaver, and very nice. “I understand you received your prize. A ham, was it?” She laughed. “That must have been a terrible disappointment.”

“Not at all. I’m rather fond of ham.” Tabitha smiled. “In fact, we’re going to have it for Sunday dinner. Care to join us?”

Darcy gave a delicate shudder. “No, thank you. Pigs are disgusting animals. I wouldn’t dream of eating one.”

“Oh, don’t worry. We’ll wash off the mud before we eat it.”

It was too much fun to watch Darcy’s reaction. Tabitha supposed she ought to behave herself.

“What can I do for you today, Darcy?”

“I need to mail a letter. I do believe that’s what one does in a post office, correct?”

“Generally speaking. I do have a couple here for you as well.” Tabitha handed over the small stack, then put Darcy’s letter in the outgoing pile.

“Thank you.” Darcy tucked everything into her reticule. “Now, I wonder if I should say something. I mean, I
should
, but I wonder if it would be unkind.”

Tabitha knew Darcy was waiting for her to ask what she meant. She wasn’t going to do it. Instead, she waited, her hands folded on the counter. Finally, Darcy couldn’t hold it in.

“I realize you’re a fine, upstanding citizen—I mean, you never would have been chosen as Miss Atwater otherwise—but you should know that there’s been some talk.”

Tabitha’s mind immediately flew to Clara’s new job, and she felt sick inside. But then Darcy continued.

“First, the pastor comes in to see you today, and then just a short time later, Mr. Scott? My, my, my. And this is after you were seen with both of them at the festival. I don’t mean to cause you any grief, but tongues will wag, as you know, and they’re wagging. If you’re going to juggle two men, you might be a little more discreet about it.”

Tabitha nodded as though receiving great advice. “You’re right. That’s absolutely the case. And now you’ve come to see me. That’s rather scandalous—people might think you’re associating with a fallen woman. What would that do for your reputation?”

“We’re not associating,” Darcy protested. “I’m mailing a letter.”

“Which is exactly what the pastor and Mr. Scott were here to do. Honestly, Darcy, I have no idea what gets into you sometimes, and I have better things to do. Why don’t you take your letters home and read them? That would be a much more pleasant way to spend your day than visiting with me, I’m sure.”

Darcy’s eyes narrowed. “Are you asking me to leave? Are you throwing me out of the post office?”

“No, not at all. I’m merely making a suggestion that is designed for your own best happiness.” Tabitha smiled, although it was rather difficult to do so.

“Very well. I’ll go. I just thought you’d like to know what people are saying.”

“If I ever want to know what people are saying, I’ll ask Mrs. Smith. Until I hear it from her, I don’t give it any heed—I only take my gossip from the best source. Have a good day, Darcy.”

Once she was alone again, Tabitha sank against the counter. Darcy had been against her from the very first moment she’d come to Atwater at the age of ten, and she couldn’t imagine why. She supposed that every town had at least one girl like Darcy—jealous, petty, unhappy. She’d mentioned it to the girls at the mill once, and several of them said they knew exactly what she meant—they had Darcys in their lives too. What would drive someone to be so mean to other people? And why was it so common? She smiled as she remembered the look on Darcy’s face when she talked about mud. Yes, that had been fun.

***

“Hello the house!”

Thomas looked up at the greeting and saw Pastor Reed riding toward him. He set down the piece of wood he was measuring, wiped his hand on his trousers, and walked out to meet the pastor.