Brides of Iowa (15 page)

As the shadows engulfed the shed, she lit her candle. A cracked coffee cup served as her candle holder. She held the candle aloft to search every corner of the shed for other remains of Daisy’s lunch. Finding none, she breathed a sigh of relief and sat down on the quilt with Mama’s Bible.

Instead of the Psalms tonight, she turned to the New Testament and began leafing through the pages, reading an underlined verse here or there. The marks showed her the words Mama read and loved then left as a legacy to her.

“Words to live by, honey girl. You can always trust the words in God’s Book.”

Tears welled in her eyes. If only Mama were here to answer some of the questions taunting her.

She turned a few more pages and found a folded bit of newspaper with torn edges. She carefully unfolded the yellowed paper and held it close to the candlelight to read the date.
“August 12, 1866.”
Three days before her fourth birthday.

The article described the arrest of three men in Madisonville, Kentucky. One of the men stood accused of murder while the other two claimed to know nothing about it. Since they were in the company of the guilty man, it was at first assumed they, too, were guilty. During the trial, evidence proved the other two men innocent of the murder but suspected in various petty crimes. One of those two men had escaped custody before the verdict could be pronounced, and the name of the escapee caused her blood to freeze. “Doyle Langford.”
Papa?

She looked at the pages in First Thessalonians where Mama had tucked the scrap of newspaper. There was a verse underlined.
“Abstain from all appearance of evil.”
Accompanying the verse was a dried smudge that appeared to be a water droplet. Or a teardrop.

“If Papa hadn’t associated with the guilty man, he wouldn’t have appeared guilty and would’ve had no reason to run.”

Tessa’s hand aimlessly stroked Daisy’s fur. Being in the wrong place with the wrong person had brought suspicion down on Papa and heartache to her mother. In the candle’s glow, she read the verse following the one Mama had underlined. Paul, the writer of First Thessalonians, prayed for the people he loved to remain blameless.

Tessa leaned back and closed her eyes. Had she done the very thing Papa did? By standing out in front of the saloon, she’d placed herself in the position of appearing guilty. Maybe Gideon’s question wasn’t one of reproach at all, but rather one of sorrow.

G
ideon stared over the top of his coffee mug. “Maybe she’ll come into the mercantile today,” he muttered aloud. Would speaking the words make them so?

“Did you say something?”

He turned to see Martha at the sink looking at him over her shoulder. She was probably afraid he’d bite her head off again like he’d done yesterday. They’d teased each other throughout their childhood, but the past several days, even Martha tiptoed around him.

“No, nothing important.”

Martha wiped her hands on a towel and crossed the kitchen to sit at the table with him. “Gideon, just go and talk to her. What’s stopping you?”

When had his little sister become so intuitive? He was the big brother. She was supposed to come to him for advice, not the other way around. But he’d certainly made a mess of things where Tessa was concerned. Maybe Martha was wiser in matters of the heart. Either that or she’d simply had enough of his grumpy disposition.

He set his cup down and leaned on his elbows. “It’s not that easy, honey. I said something I shouldn’t have, and now I don’t know how to make it right.”

Martha’s eyebrows arched a little. “‘I’m sorry’ usually works well. And if it’s your pride that’s keeping you from apologizing, remember living with nothing but your pride can be awfully lonely.”

Oh, being wrong was tough, especially when one’s little sister pointed out the obvious. A week’s worth of loneliness grated on him with relentless condemnation.

His reasoning sounded completely logical to him: He couldn’t leave the store. There wasn’t enough privacy to talk at the hotel. Besides, the last time he spent a few minutes talking to her while she was working, she almost got fired. Going to speak to her after work at her little dwelling wouldn’t be appropriate since it was located in a back alley. All those points made perfectly good sense during the day. But at night, as he fought with the bedcovers, the feeble excuses tormented him, and there was no one to blame except the man whose face peered back at him from the mirror every morning.

Martha rose and brushed a kiss on his cheek. “Don’t wait too long, Gideon. The longer you put it off, the harder it will be. And from what you’ve told me about her, Tessa’s a nice girl.” She picked up her towel. “You’re going to a great deal of trouble downstairs in the storeroom to give Tessa a place to work for herself instead of for Henry Kilgore. I don’t suppose you were doing all that work just to pass the time.”

Gideon leaned back in his chair, pressed his lips together, and narrowed his eyes. He was about to tell her to mind her own business when she sealed her case.

“I’m sure after you’ve prayed about it God will tell you what to do.” She patted his shoulder and returned to the breakfast dishes.

How was he supposed to refute that? He stared into his coffee cup. Sure, he’d prayed about it. He prayed God would bring Tessa into the mercantile so they could talk. But she hadn’t come in—not for a whole week—and he was beginning to get the idea God wasn’t going to bring Tessa anywhere. Like Martha said, he just needed to go talk to her.

“But I don’t know what to say to her,” he mumbled under his breath. “I wounded her. She probably never wants to see my face again.” He stood and scraped his chair back across the wooden floor, continuing to mutter as he descended the squeaky stairs to the store. “She was beginning to trust me, and I hurt her.”

“You aren’t the one she is supposed to trust.”

He halted in midstep. “God, You must get awfully tired of me trying to handle things on my own.”

He stepped inside the storeroom and knelt by the worktable he’d built for Tessa. “Father, I told Martha I didn’t know how to make things right between Tessa and me, but that wasn’t true. I know I owe Tessa an apology. I just don’t know how to make it happen. I owe You an apology, too, Lord. You’ve nudged me in Tessa’s direction, and if I’d listened to You, maybe I wouldn’t have said those stupid things. I doubted You, Father, and I didn’t wait like You told me to do. Forgive me, and please work it out so I can talk to her today.”

Business remained slow most of the morning, giving Gideon plenty of time to carry on a running conversation with God. Now, as he scowled at the paper in his hand, he had to admit God certainly had interesting ways to test his perseverance. Not that he was complaining. He’d simply have to exercise some faith and trust.

The bell jingled announcing the arrival of a customer.

A surge of hope quickened his pulse.
Tessa?
He looked up, but it was Pearl Dunnigan’s sunny smile that greeted him.

“Good morning, Gideon.”

His shoulders sagged in disappointment, and he mumbled, “Morning, Miss Pearl.”

The woman chuckled. “What kind of welcome is that? Should I go back out and come in again?”

Gideon sent her an apologetic smile. “Sorry.” He held up the paper. “The stove parts have been shipped.”

“Wonderful. How soon before they get here?”

Gideon sighed. “That will depend on how soon I can go get them.”

Miss Pearl frowned. “They’re not coming here?”

Gideon handed her the telegram. “I wired the freight office in Dubuque to see if the parts had come in. They’ve arrived, but the next shipment for this area isn’t due for another week and a half. I can get there and back in three days on horseback.”

She looked over the missive and returned it to him. “Who would run the store?”

“Martha. She’s worked in the store plenty of times along with Pa and me. She can do it for three days.” He shrugged. “I’d like to get those parts as soon as possible. Even so, it may all be for naught.”

“Why, Gideon? Didn’t Tessa like the idea?”

Gideon pulled the pencil from behind his ear and thumped it on the counter. “I haven’t had a chance to show it to her yet. Miss Pearl, I’ve really messed things up.”

Miss Pearl arched her eyebrows. “You want to tell me about it?”

By the time he finished the whole story, she stood with arms folded, tapping her foot. “Gideon Maxwell, you should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Oh, I am.”

“I’m appalled that you’ve let an entire week go by without going to apologize. And you’re waiting for God to simply do your bidding and bring Tessa to you?”

“But Miss Pearl, it’s not—”

“How do you think that poor girl felt when you asked her if she was working at that awful place?”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know your pa taught you better than that.”

“Miss Pearl, I—”

“If you don’t march yourself over there this minute and talk to her, I’ll go myself and bring her back here with me!” Miss Pearl ended her declaration with a snort and her hands on her hips. “Well?”

Gideon took in a breath and held it for a moment. Maybe Miss Pearl had something there. At any rate, Tessa would likely be more receptive to Miss Pearl than to him at the moment.

He reached out and took Miss Pearl’s hands in his. “I think that’s a wonderful idea. When are you going?”

Tessa stood with her mouth agape, staring at the stove and the work space in Gideon’s storeroom.

Large mixing bowls, baking pans, pie plates, and utensils lined the sturdy table. Sacks of flour and sugar crowded under the table while spice tins occupied one of the shelves. The stove sat proudly in the corner, polished and waiting.

She shook her head. “Gideon, I can’t do this. You know I don’t have the money to pay you for these things.”

She watched Gideon glance at Miss Pearl who stood to one side. The woman smiled and nodded, and he took a deep breath like he was preparing to plunge headfirst into a rain barrel.

“Tessa, it’s a business arrangement. You sell your baked goods out of the mercantile, and I get a small percentage until the cost of the materials and equipment is met. After that, your only expense would be your baking supplies. In addition, you supply Miss Pearl here with baked goods for the boardinghouse in exchange for your room and board. Not only can you quit your job at the hotel and work here full-time, you’ll have a pleasant place to live.”

Her mind staggered in an attempt to fully comprehend all Gideon had done on her behalf. Business arrangement or not, he’d gone to a great deal of trouble, and she only had one question.

“Why?”

His hopeful expression drooped. “Why? Well, because … you … you’re …” His shoulders rose and fell.

She remembered the only other time she saw him so befuddled and speechless was a week ago when she stormed out the door. This simply didn’t make sense in the light of his earlier assumption that she’d taken the saloon job. “Gideon, I don’t understand why you would go to so much trouble for someone like me.”

A grimace distorted his features. “Tessa—” He seemed to forget about Miss Pearl as he took a step closer. “Tessa, this might come as a surprise to you, but it shouldn’t. I care about you. I care what happens to you, and I care how you’re treated. You’re a lady deserving of respect.”

He fidgeted a moment, staring at the floor. “Tessa, the other day when I jumped to conclusions—I was wrong.” He looked up and locked his gaze on her face. “I should’ve known you’d never do something like that. I apologize for even considering the possibility. Please forgive me.”

Forgive? Gideon was asking for her forgiveness? It was too much to take in, and she turned toward the worktable. Of all the men she’d ever known or come in contact with—Papa, Mr. Kilgore, the hotel desk clerk, even the awful man outside the saloon—Gideon was the last man she believed needed to ask for forgiveness. Her gaze traveled over the equipment, the baking supplies, and the stove.

“Tessa, please?”

She pulled her attention back to the man standing before her. His eyes remained fixed on her as if willing her to accept his declaration. She believed he was truly sorry for the misunderstanding, but she couldn’t let Gideon shoulder all the responsibility.