Brides of Iowa (9 page)

If they were from Gideon, it meant he knew where she was living, but somehow it didn’t seem to matter. She reversed her direction and trotted down the alley to see which way Gideon had gone.

Just as she reached the boardwalk, Mr. Kilgore stepped out the front door of the hotel. “Ah, there you are.”

What did he want? Whatever it was, it couldn’t be anything good.

“I suppose you’ve learned your lesson. In fact, I wondered if you had given any more thought to my previous offer. If you can’t manage to serve tables efficiently in the dining room, maybe you’re better suited to a different type of establishment. You know, standing around and flirting with my clients at the Blue Goose might make you one of the favorites over there. They like it when the girls are nice to them. What do you say?”

Her mouth dropped open at his audacity, and she snapped it shut before she said something she’d regret. Did he expect her to lick his boots for telling her she could work serving whiskey? Besides, according to Tillie and Flossie, the girls who worked at the saloon did more than just serve drinks. Tessa didn’t want to think about what other duties they might have to perform. Maybe the kind of work Mr. Kilgore suggested was the best she could be, but the unceasing tug on her heart reminded her that Gideon thought her to be a lady. She took a deep breath and met Mr. Kilgore’s icy eyes. “No, Mr. Kilgore. I will not work in your saloon. Good day.”

She started to go around him, but he stretched out his hand to stop her. Her feet froze, and she glared at his hand touching her arm, then up at his face, and back down at his hand.

Mr. Kilgore lifted his hand from her arm and held it slightly aloft, scorn coloring the sneer on his face. With methodic motion, he splayed his fingers and slid his thumbs down his suspenders and cleared his throat. “I understand you’re the one who’s been doing the baking.”

Her pulse skipped a beat. They’d been so careful to keep their secret. She feared for Flossie’s job, but she lifted her chin and tried her best to appear poised. “That’s right. Flossie burned her hand, and she was afraid you’d fire her. I didn’t want to see her lose her job, so I helped out.” She again started around him.

This time he had the good sense to keep his hands to himself. “Miss Langford, I’ve changed my mind. I’m feeling rather generous today, so you can have your job back.”

Tessa cocked one eyebrow at him. “At thirty-five cents a day?”

“Well, since you’re doing the baking, I could raise you to forty-five cents.”

She turned to face him squarely. “Fifty cents and Flossie gets to keep her job.”

Mr. Kilgore’s face reddened. Though a vein popped out on his neck and his lips tightened around his cigar, she didn’t blink.

“All right! Fifty cents.” He yanked the stubby cigar from his mouth and pointed it at her. “But you remember one thing. Nobody tells me what to do. Not you or that hypocrite Gideon Maxwell. I don’t take that sanctimonious rot from anybody, and don’t you forget it. You watch your step.” He huffed and stalked down the boardwalk.

An odd mixture of laughter, tears, relief, and disgust welled inside her. Her pulse drummed in her temples, and she couldn’t decide whether to look for Gideon or return to her humble dwelling. Instead she did neither. Her knees began to shake, and she sat down on the boardwalk, her lungs heaving like she’d just run a race.

Gideon slammed the door of the living quarters above the mercantile. Fortunately Martha wasn’t home to witness his tantrum. Anger seethed through him at the thought of Kilgore manhandling Tessa. His feet refused to stay still, so he paced back and forth across the front room. He wished he could have thrown at least one punch—just one—square in the mouth.

“He’s insufferable!”

“Henry Kilgore may not have behaved like a gentleman, but you’re not behaving like one either. Kilgore has an excuse. He’s not a Christian. You are.”

Gideon flopped down on the settee and sighed. “I know, Lord. Now Tessa’s lost her job, and it’s my fault.”

He slid to the floor and knelt, leaning his elbows on the settee and holding his face in his hands. “Father, please help Tessa find another job. I hated that she was working for Kilgore, but now she has nothing. She probably won’t accept any help from me. Whatever the solution, it will have to come from You.” He remained on his knees for a time, asking God to forgive his display of temper and praying for Tessa’s situation.

After a while, he felt the urge to go downstairs and work off some of his aggravation.

He’d been meaning to rearrange things in the storeroom for a long time. If the place was better organized with increased shelf space, the mercantile might be more attractive to a buyer.

He rummaged around, pushing and shoving crates here and there, and sketching some shelving ideas on a tablet. A large lumpy object hid under an old canvas in the corner, and Gideon groaned when he remembered the cookstove his father had ordered three years ago for a customer who never came back to get it. The thing took up so much space out front that Gideon finally dragged it back to the storeroom and covered it, thinking he could at least stack bales of fence wire on it.

He pulled off the canvas and scowled at the behemoth. Maybe if he put a reduced price on it and hauled it back out front, someone might take it off his hands. He gripped the thing and pushed and pulled, grunting until sweat popped out on his forehead and dribbled down his face.

Finally, after twenty minutes of wrestling, he straightened up and glared at the stove. The monstrosity simply didn’t want to move.

Whatever the solution, it will have to come from You.

An idea began taking shape in his mind. He grabbed the tablet that bore his rough sketches and crumpled the page. With pencil in hand, a new plan unfolded on a fresh sheet of paper. He sketched efficient shelving and storage, a work space, and a new display area.

An hour later, the plan lay before him on the tablet. “Lord, if this is what You want me to do, You’ll have to make all the details work. But don’t let me run ahead of You, Father. This has to be Your plan, not mine.”

Gideon slapped his hat on his head and bounded out the back door with the tablet in hand. The next step was to speak to Pearl Dunnigan. He took the stairs leading to her back porch two at a time and rapped on her door.

She opened the door and smiled broadly. “Why, Gideon! How nice of you to drop by. Please come in.”

He swept off his hat. “Afternoon, Miss Pearl. Would you have a few minutes to talk?”

“Of course. Come sit down at the kitchen table.” She bustled about pouring two cups of coffee.

The aroma of Sunday pot roast lingered in the spacious kitchen. He wiped his feet on the braided rug at the door. Cheery red-checkered curtains framed the wide window from which sunlight flooded the room. Clay flowerpots lined up like fence posts along the windowsill.

Miss Pearl ushered him to a bare, work-worn table in the middle of the room. Gideon sat on a creaking chair and laid his tablet in front of him, while Miss Pearl set out a plate heaped with molasses cookies and joined him at the table.

He took a tentative sip of the steaming coffee. “I have something I’d like to discuss with you.” He pushed the tablet over so she could look at his sketches.

Thirty minutes later, Miss Pearl shared Gideon’s excitement. She clapped her hands. “Oh Gideon, I can’t tell you how I’m looking forward to this.”

Gideon emptied his coffee mug. “Tessa can be in business for herself, and she can have a decent place to live here while she helps you out with the baking. Plus, the baked goods she’ll sell from the mercantile will be her source of income while it brings more customers into the store.”

“I have a little room behind the kitchen stairs that will be perfect for her.” Miss Pearl blotted her lips with the hem of her apron. “I’ve been using it for storage, so it will take me a few days to get it ready.”

Gideon rose and picked up the tablet. “There’s no rush since it will take me at least a couple of weeks to construct the work area and install the stove.” Even as he spoke the words, he wished he could make it happen today.

“When will you tell her?”

He paused by the door. “I’d like to get the storeroom organized into a work space first. That way, I’ll have something to show her.” Guilt still hounded him over the events of the afternoon. “I just hope she doesn’t think of it as charity.”

Tessa darted out the door and made straight for Maxwell’s Mercantile. Telling Gideon she still had a job wasn’t the only reason for her errand. When she’d opened up the cabinet this morning to retrieve the leftover cinnamon bread she’d brought home, she discovered little ragged holes chewed through the paper, and only a few miniscule crumbles of bread remained. The little beasts had also made a feast of the crackers she’d bought just two days before.

The mercantile door stood open, inviting her inside.

“Hello, Gideon.”

When he looked up, his normal polite smile he used to greet all his customers deepened into something she didn’t dare try to interpret. “Hi, Tessa.”

Her heart skipped. “I wanted you to know that Mr. Kilgore gave me my job back.”

“Oh?”

The scowl on his face surprised her. She thought he’d be happy she still had a job. “After you left yesterday, Mr. Kilgore came looking for me. He said he knew I’d been doing the baking and he’d changed his mind about firing me.”

Gideon shrugged. “Hmph. More likely he was afraid he’d lose business without you doing the baking.”

“I don’t know about that, but he gave me a raise.”

“That a fact? But Tessa, if he ever dares to lay a hand—”

She stopped him. “Don’t worry. I don’t think he will.” She tilted her head to one side. “By any chance do you know who left a lovely bouquet of daisies at my door yesterday?”

If the red stain filling Gideon’s cheeks was evidence, she had her answer. “Thank you. They’re lovely. You keep doing things that puzzle me. I can’t understand why you want to be nice to someone like me.”

Gideon bristled and put his hands on his hips. “Now don’t start that again.” He held his hands out, palms up, in an entreaty. “Tessa, I just can’t understand why your father railed at you so, and I certainly can’t understand why you believe the things he said to you.”

She lifted her shoulders in a resigned shrug. “It seemed like I heard him say things like that all my life. I was … well, a disappointment to him.” She dipped her head. “Mama had a very difficult time—” Heat filled her face. “After I was born, she never regained her strength. I don’t ever remember Mama being healthy.” Her voice became raspy. “She was never able to give Papa the son he wanted, and it was because of me.” The memory of Mama’s soft whisper in the night after Papa’s tirades, telling Tessa how much she loved her, stroked her heart. But Mama feared Papa, too.

Gideon shook his head. “Tessa, he was wrong. You are a lady, and you don’t deserve to be treated otherwise. Please believe that.”

She lifted her shoulders. “I don’t know. It may take some time.”

“We’ll work on it.” His grin nearly knocked her breath from her. “Was there anything you needed?”

“Well, yes. I need to know the price of a crock or a canister, something with a lid tight enough to keep out a mouse.”

His expression turned sympathetic, and he pulled two sizes of crockery off a high shelf and set them before her on the counter. “This larger one is twenty-eight cents, and the smaller is eighteen cents. Which size would suit your needs?”

Her hand felt around in her pocket for the coins Mr. Kilgore tossed at her yesterday. She hesitated. The smaller one would do nicely, but she wanted to put the coins in her pocket into the old sock she was using to stash away her savings toward her winter rent. Now that Mr. Kilgore had given her a raise, perhaps she could part with eighteen cents later in the week.

She ran a finger around the edge of the smaller crock. “I think I’ll wait for now.”

“Look, Tessa.” He pushed the crock toward her. “Why don’t you take this with you now. You can pay me later.”

She stiffened and shook her head slightly, nudging the crock back across the counter to him. No, she’d not take anything without being able to pay cash for it. “When I get my pay this week, I’ll come back and get it. Meanwhile, could I get five cents’ worth of cheese and crackers, please?” She fished a nickel from her pocket.