Brides of Iowa (46 page)

“I seen you and old man Sewell jawin’ over yonder.”

It was all Everett could do to hold back a snort of laughter. Cully appeared to have quite a few years on Roland Sewell, so to hear the livery owner refer to the banker as an old man threatened to undo Everett’s quiet dignity.

“Um, yes, I’ll be leasing the building from Mr. Sewell for the purpose of starting a freighting operation based here in Willow Creek. I’d like to contract with you to stable my horses.”

Cully’s thick eyebrows sprang up into his hairline. “You don’t say! That’s some of the most welcome news I’ve heard in a while. A freightin’ business, right here in Willow Creek?” Cully slapped Everett on the back. “Young fella, you bring your horses here whenever you’re ready. I’ll give you a fair deal.”

Gideon Maxwell led a glossy black Belgian gelding around the yard for Everett’s appraisal. “He’s only four years old, but he’s gentle and steady. Since he and the other three were broke to harness and trained together, they’re well matched. They’ll pull in pairs or in a four up.”

Everett surveyed the four horses before him. “Magnificent animals. It’s hard to believe a horse as big and muscular as this can be so gentle.”

Gideon patted the black’s neck. “That’s one of the reasons I chose to breed Belgians. They’re strong and have great endurance, and they also have a wonderful temperament, which makes them trustworthy with families.”

The big gelding snorted and turned to look in Everett’s direction, as if investigating his prospective new owner. Everett rubbed the horse’s velvety nose. “I’m quite impressed. I believe these four horses will serve me well.” He gave the black a pat on the neck. “What are their names?”

“I reserve the privilege of naming the horses for the buyers.” Gideon grinned at him. “You get to think of four names. So when do you think you’ll be ready to start your freighting operation?”

“I sent a telegram yesterday to Julien House Hardware Company in Dubuque. They’ve recently become a supplier of Springfield wagons.” Everett stood aside while Gideon led the big gelding back to the corral. “I hope to send a man to Dubuque later this week to pick up the wagon.”

“This town sure can use a freighting company. Let’s go into the house and draw up the papers.”

Everett pulled off his coat and hat and crossed the yard to lay them on the seat of the buggy he’d borrowed from Cully’s livery. He’d been so engrossed in watching the splendid draft horses go through their paces, he’d forgotten about concealing his scars, but Gideon didn’t seem to notice. As Everett followed his host to the two-story whitewashed house, Gideon’s wife, Tessa, stepped out the front door with a young child on her hip. Tillie O’Dell followed on Tessa’s heels. Everett instinctively ducked his head and tugged his cravat up higher around his neck till it hid his lower jawline. He glanced over his shoulder where his hat lay atop his coat on the buggy seat.

Tessa stopped on the top step of the porch. “Gideon, Tillie and I have been working on some quilt patterns together, and I was planning to take her home, but Susan is a little feverish.” She brushed her hand over the child’s forehead. “I’m afraid she might be coming down with something.”

Before Gideon could reply, Tillie stepped forward and joined her friend on the step. “Tessa, I told you I could walk. It’s only about four miles.”

A feeling of tightness that had nothing to do with his collar or cravat crept around Everett’s throat. The very sound of Tillie’s voice rained like soft mercy-drops on his ears. He’d never known such a feeling before, and it surely bewildered him now. The breeze caught her honey-blond hair and wisped it across her face. The curve of her cheek was interrupted by a tiny dimple that accented her smile. She might not possess the ravishing beauty of some of the socialites back east, but her gentle manner and soft smile arrested him, and her Irish green eyes held him captive.

Heat climbed Everett’s neck and made the scars along his jawline sting. Sorrow pricked him. Why did God taunt him with the illusion of being attracted to a young lady like Tillie?

What a joke. It wasn’t as if he was Tillie’s beau. She was a mere acquaintance and could never be anything more.

“Is that all right with you, Everett?”

He startled at the sound of his name. Gideon stood looking at him with expectation and a hint of amusement.

“Um…I’m sorry, is what all right?”

Gideon grinned, deepening Everett’s level of discomfort. “This paperwork will only take a few minutes. Would you mind driving Tillie home in your buggy?”

His gaze shot to the porch, where Tillie stood wide-eyed and blushing. Drive her home? Refusing would be rude and ungallant, but the very thought of sitting in such close proximity to her for four miles tied his tongue into knots and made it hard to breathe. A sense of motion jarred him, and he realized he’d nodded his head.

Gideon motioned him inside, and they made short work of the bill of sale for four horses. As Everett counted out the purchase price, his hands shook in anticipation of having Tillie for a traveling companion.

Outside in the yard, Gideon helped Tillie into the buggy, and Everett breathed a sigh of relief that she’d be sitting to his left, where she couldn’t view the scarred side of his face. His heart galloped as he climbed into the buggy seat beside Tillie, and he had an urgent need for a drink of water, but there was no turning back now. He released the brake and slapped the reins gently on the horse’s rump.

Tillie waved at her friends as the buggy pulled away from the house. “I hope Susan feels better soon,” she called to Tessa.

She turned and settled back into the seat beside him. “Thank you for the ride, Everett. I know it’s out of your way, and I apologize for the inconvenience. If you like, you can just drop me off in town, and I can walk the rest of the way. It’s not terribly far.”

Her tone held no pretense. All the young women back in Baltimore were consumed with obligatory society protocol. Tillie’s lack of social status would have made his grandmother swoon, but as his father had pointed out on a few occasions, Willow Creek wasn’t Baltimore.

He swallowed hard a few times to push down the boulder that had taken up residence in his throat and sucked in a deep breath. “Nonsense. Of course I’ll drive you home.”

Tillie squirmed a bit in the seat, giving him the impression of discomfort. Was she embarrassed to be seen with him? She’d made a point of speaking with him in the churchyard, but perhaps riding with him in a buggy indicated more than friendship—something she didn’t want misunderstood by anyone who might see them together.

The next mile passed in awkward silence. Sweat popped out on his brow, and he ignored his proper upbringing and dragged his shirtsleeve across his face.

“Oh Everett, look.” He jumped when Tillie clutched his arm and pointed. He followed the direction she indicated and noticed nothing but a few clumps of small purple flowers.

“Would you mind stopping for a minute so I can pick some of those violets? They’re my favorite.”

He pulled the mare to a stop and watched as Tillie hopped down and ran across the rutted road. She fell to her knees and began picking the purple blossoms and gathering them into a bouquet. As she held them to her face and closed her eyes, Everett’s breath caught. What a picture she made. His heart picked up speed and thrummed double time. He stepped down and offered her a hand up when she returned to the buggy with her nosegay of violets. Was it his self-consciousness or Tillie’s nearness that caused his heart to resemble Cully’s hammer at the forge?

E
verett checked another item off the bill of lading on his clipboard. A year ago, he’d never have believed he’d find enjoyment in earning a living by the sweat of his brow. Though not familiar with physical labor, he discovered it suited him. Most of the time he worked alone, content to shut himself off from the rest of the townsfolk, toiling over tally sheets, invoices, and inventories in the back office or building sturdy shelves in the front room. He’d even learned to harness the teams and hitch them to the wagon. When he fell into bed at the end of an exhausting day, he felt a satisfaction he’d never known before. The local merchants and business owners were quick to contract his services, giving him cause to wonder if he’d need to purchase a second wagon and another team by next year.

“Good morning, son.”

Everett glanced up to see his father coming in his direction. He set down the clipboard he was holding and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his perspiring forehead. “Good morning.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the crates and barrels in the back of the sturdy Springfield wagon. “Most of this load is the goods you ordered three weeks ago. As soon as I get everything inventoried and checked off the bill of lading, I’ll have the fellow I hired bring them over to the mercantile.”

A grin tweaked his father’s mustache. “It used to take at least six weeks to get merchandise, and even then sometimes I had to send someone to take a wagon to Waterloo, Manchester, or Dubuque to pick up goods from the freight depots there.”

Gratification seeped into Everett’s breast. Since the fire, he’d struggled to feel useful. Since he now provided the community with a needed service, perhaps he wasn’t a throwback after all. He cautioned himself, however. Just because the community appreciated having a freight company in town didn’t mean they could look at him without shuddering.

“Your business seems to be growing, even in the short time since you’ve opened your operation.” His father rubbed his chin. “What’s it been…three, four weeks?”

Everett’s smile tugged on the scarred tissue along his jaw. “It’s been a little over a month since I opened, and I already have enough work to keep me busy.”

“You say you’ve hired a man?”

“Yes, only two or three days a week right now, but if business continues the way it has, I might ask him if he’d like to work every day.” Everett reclaimed the clipboard and pulled his pencil from behind his ear. “You probably know him. His name is Ben Kiefer.”

“Oh sure, I know Ben. He’s a nice young man.” His father stuck his thumbs in his belt. “What does his job entail?”

Everett counted spools of wire and checked them off the invoice on the clipboard. “Mostly he drives the runs to and from the other towns around here, since he’s more familiar with the area. He helps load and unload, and he learned pretty quickly how to inventory the goods.” He paused and then added, “And when he’s here, he’ll be handling most of the face-to-face transactions.”

A slight flinch of sorrow shadowed his father’s face, but thankfully he didn’t argue the point. Instead he tugged his watch from his pocket and flipped open the cover. “It’s time I open the mercantile door for business before folks think I’ve closed down and retired. I’ll be waiting for Ben to bring the supplies around.” He snapped the watch closed and tucked it back into his pocket, clapped Everett on the shoulder, and set off toward the center of town.

Everett checked the bill of lading once more before starting to unload the items slated to go to recipients other than the mercantile. With a grunt of effort, he dragged a crate marked F
RAGILE
—C
HINAWARE
addressed to the hotel and hoisted it off the tailgate to the boardwalk. Just as he set it down gingerly, something warm and furry brushed his arm. Startled, he released the crate and yanked his arm back, nearly falling over a skinny gray cat who regarded him with great yellow eyes.

“Watch out, you mangy cat.” He scowled at the animal, who took a dignified seat with its tail curled over its front paws. “Where did you come from anyway?”

The cat continued to stare as though it expected Everett to bow in obeisance. One of the cat’s ears bore a ragged edge, no doubt the result of one too many skirmishes, and its gray fur was dirty and dull.

“Go on, shoo.” Everett waved his hand at the cat, who proceeded to stand and stretch, and then pad through the door of the freight depot like it owned the place. “Where do you think you’re going? Come out of there.” He followed the animal inside just in time to see it meander into his office and leap gracefully onto the desk. The cat settled down with its white paws tucked under its body.

“Well, just make yourself at home,” Everett declared with his hands on his hips. He blew out a stiff breath. “You’d better be gone by the time I get back, because I’m going to need that desk.”

The cat merely blinked in reply. Everett shook his head and returned to the wagon to finish sorting the crates. He climbed up into the wagon bed and bent to haul a crate to the edge of the tailgate when a hard object hit him sharply on his backside. He jerked upright and was met with hoots of glee. Three boys, ranging in age from around eight years to perhaps ten or eleven, pointed fingers at him and laughed uproariously.

“See? I told you he was just like a freak in a circus.” The tallest boy elbowed the lad who held the slingshot. “Hey mister, we need a scarecrow out in our cornfield. You want the job?” The trio continued to jeer, and Everett stood, stiffened with anger and embarrassment. They were only children, but their mocking filled him with humiliation. Fire rushed up his neck and into his face, searing his ears. How many people on the street heard their insulting taunts? The boy in the middle poked another stone into the slingshot and prepared to launch it in Everett’s direction.