Every Perfect Gift (8 page)

“I’d best see to him, then.” Robbie clasped Sophie’s hand. “We should go. I’m awfully glad you came today.”

He and his wife hurried to greet the departing worshippers.

“You are coming out to the house, aren’t you?” Gillie said. “I
can promise you that Mother’s barbecue will taste much better than anything you’ll get at the Verandah.”

“If we’re going to ride, I’ll need to change my dress.”

“We can stop at the Verandah for your clothes.” Gillie led the way to her rig. “You can change after dinner.”

The two friends made the five-mile drive to the Gilmans’ place in companionable silence, enjoying the beauty and the unusual warmth of the day. The lane leading to the house was crowded with wagons and rigs and carriages. People spilled from the porches onto the grass. Women gathered in groups near the house, enjoying the sun and chatting. The men lined up against the fence, studying the Gilmans’ horses and those of the Rutledges next door.

Spying Sophie, Carrie Rutledge broke away and crossed the lawn to greet her. “I didn’t know you were coming today, but I’m so glad you did. Charlotte will be delighted to see you. She was quite taken with you when you visited us.”

“She’s darling. I’m glad to see you too. You put me in mind of Ada. I miss her terribly.”

Carrie patted Sophie’s hand. “I’m sure she misses you too. Have you heard from her since you arrived here?”

“Two letters last week. Lilly twisted an ankle chasing after Wade, but otherwise they’re all fine.”

“Mrs. Rutledge, will you excuse us?” Gillie said. “We’re starved. I hope Mother saved me a piece of pie.”

“You might have to wrestle my husband for it. I have never met a man more in love with chess pie.”

Gillie laughed. “Come on, Sophie. I’ll introduce you to Mother, and then we can eat.”

She led the way to the dining room where a large buffet was set
with bone china and glittering crystal. A woman Sophie assumed was Mrs. Gilman moved among her guests, regal as a queen. Gillie caught her eye. “Mother, may I introduce Miss Sophie Caldwell? She’s the new owner of the
Gazette
.”

“So I hear.” Mrs. Gilman crossed her ample arms and eyed Sophie from head to toe, taking in her ruffled shirtwaist and simple skirt.

Sophie felt her face go warm at such cold scrutiny, but she met the older woman’s steady gaze.

“Of course my daughter’s friends are always welcome here,” Mrs. Gilman said. “But I do hope you won’t monopolize Sabrina’s time. There are several young men here who—”

“Come on, Sophie,” Gillie said in a rush. “Let’s get some barbecue before it’s all gone.”

They filled their plates and settled down on the porch steps to eat. While Sophie devoured slices of barbecued pork, mounds of mashed potatoes, and fruit compote served in a tiny hand-painted cup, Gillie regaled her with stories of her rounds with Dr. Spencer and her dream of opening an infirmary in town.

“Hickory Ridge is growing so much, Doc Spencer can’t always get to everyone who needs him in a timely fashion.” Gillie polished off her slice of pie and drained her glass. “And often mothers put off sending for the doctor for themselves. By the time Dr. Spencer sees them, they’ve gotten worse. We need a place where they can come and stay for treatment if necessary. I can handle the routine things, and Doc will have time for the more serious cases.” She stood. “Come on. Ready to ride?”

They left their dishes in the kitchen, changed clothes in Gillie’s room, and headed to the barn. Gillie lifted the bar on the door and they went inside. A sleek brown mare, her soft eyes fringed with thick lashes, bobbed her head and snuffled as they passed. Sophie breathed in the familiar smells of horses, hay, and liniment and
paused to rest her cheek against the horse’s muzzle, missing home and everything in it. Why had she insisted on coming back here, so far from everyone who loved her?

Well, it was too late now. She wasn’t one to give up easily. She wouldn’t go home until she’d accomplished what she set out to do.

“Look around if you wish,” Gillie said. “I’ll have Old Peter tack up a couple of mounts, and that will take awhile. He’s ancient, but he loves it here, and Papa hasn’t the heart to retire him.” She disappeared into the dimness of the long barn.

Sophie stayed put and spoke quietly to the mare, running her hands over the animal’s sleek, warm sides. The discomfort of Mrs. Gilman’s cool reception vanished, replaced with the sense of peace that being around horses always brought her.

“Well, look who’s here. Our newspaperwoman.”

Sophie spun around, one hand over her heart. “Mr. Heyward. You startled me.”

In a few long strides he covered the distance between them. “And you startled me, Miss Caldwell, with your editorial in the
Gazette
.”

“Oh, that.” She patted the horse. “Well, I’m sorry if I offended you, but it’s my job to report the facts. And to remark upon them when I feel it’s warranted.”

“Thus giving readers the benefit of your vast experience.” His voice was deadly serious, but a glint of amusement flashed in his eyes.

Was he making fun of her? She plucked a currycomb from the stall shelf and began grooming the horse. She hadn’t meant to sound so didactic, but heavenly days, what did Mr. Heyward think she was supposed to do? Ignore the circumstances at the resort just to keep his good opinion?

He held out his hand, allowing the horse to sniff. “Of course, I can’t tell you what to write, but your comments left the wrong
impression. I’m not hiding anything up at Blue Smoke, and I didn’t much care for the insinuation.”

“I understand a couple of men died in fights up there. I’m only trying to prevent more bloodshed.”

“Who told you that?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? What happened to your high-and-mighty journalistic standards? Or are you now in the dirt with those sensationalist hacks who make up their so-called facts?”

She returned the currycomb to the shelf. “I did not make it up. One of your men told me about it the night I rode up there with Sheriff McCracken. The man did not tell me his name.” She glared at him. “Apparently he’s too afraid to speak out. He did tell me that fights are common among the workers. It seems to me like a dangerous situation.”

He fixed her with a steady gaze. “I don’t like it either, but human nature is what it is. So long as the coloreds and the Irish hate each other and they both hate the Chinese, there will be disagreements. I’m trying to keep the lid on things until Blue Smoke is finished. Editorials like yours don’t help matters.”

She waited, one hand resting on the mare’s side.

Mr. Heyward propped one booted foot on the bottom rail of the stall door. “Besides, the situation is temporary. Another couple of months and most of them can go home. Problem solved.”

“A lot can happen in the meantime.”

The mare blew out and danced sideways in her stall, and he soothed her with a quiet word, his eyes on Sophie. “What would you have me do, Miss Caldwell?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the men need something to do in the evenings. Something other than drinking whiskey and insulting each other.”

“Maybe you’d like to have them join hands and sing hymns.”

“It’s better than firing weapons and beating up on each other with fists and broken bottles, don’t you think?”

Just then Gillie and a gray-haired Negro man came out leading two horses. “Ready, Sophie?”

“How about if we make a pact?” Mr. Heyward kept his eyes fixed on Sophie. “Don’t tell me how to run my resort, and I won’t tell you how to run your newspaper.”

“Mr. Heyward, I assure you, I—”

He jammed his fists into his pockets. “I’ll leave you to your riding.”

He turned and stalked off, leaving her staring after him.

SIX

Sophie pressed her palms to her tired eyes and sighed. After weeks of waiting, the fancy paper she’d ordered had finally arrived. This morning she’d begun printing Mr. Heyward’s stationery, only to have the jobber press break smack-dab in the middle of the run. Repairing it had stolen an hour of work time. Now it was afternoon and the entire edition of this week’s
Gazette
still awaited printing.

She rose and placed the finished sheets and envelopes in a large box for delivery to Blue Smoke, then headed to the back room to start the steam press. At least Mr. Heyward would have no reason to fault her for this week’s editorial, a call for the establishment of a women’s and children’s infirmary in Hickory Ridge. Gillie was busy marshaling support for her idea. Robbie Whiting would do what he could, of course, and the Gilmans would support their daughter because the project meant everything to her. Perhaps Sheriff McCracken would back the idea too. According to Wyatt and Ada, he’d lost his wife to illness much too soon.

Outside, the train whistle shrieked. A buggy and a freight wagon rattled toward the depot. Sophie checked the ink supply and loaded the first sheet of newsprint onto the platen. She started the steam press, and the first proof slid onto the tray. She read through it, checking for errors.

The ad for Jasper Pruitt’s mercantile occupied the bottom quarter of the page, advertising a new shipment of sewing notions and canning jars. The merchant’s appearance to place an ad that first week had surprised Sophie. Years ago he’d voiced constant disapproval of her and had done everything possible to discourage Ada from having anything to do with the likes of her. Yet he continued to advertise with her, week after week. Perhaps Robbie was right and attitudes in town had changed.

She finished proofing the first page and paused to wipe her face and get a drink of water. A light breeze drifted through the open window, stirring the bouquet of violets Carrie Rutledge had dropped off on her trip to town yesterday. Sophie added water to the vase, admiring the delicate lavender petals and translucent green leaves, a welcome contrast to the inky, dust-laden composing room.

A face appeared at the open window. “Miss?”

Sophie set down her glass and motioned him to the door. He came in, and she recognized the man who had spoken to her the night of the fight at Blue Smoke. “May I help you?”

He sagged against her desk and shook his head. “I reckon I’m beyond help now. Mr. Heyward just fired me.” He looked up at her, his eyes suspiciously bright, and she realized he was near her own age. In the darkness and confusion at Blue Smoke that night, she had thought he was older.

She picked up a rag and wiped her fingers. “Why would he fire you?”

“He found out I was the one who talked to you that night. He said he doesn’t have room for me now up at Blue Smoke and I shouldn’t have talked to you.”

“That’s ridiculous. Working for Mr. Heyward does not preclude your right to talk to anybody you want to. Good gravy, you aren’t his slave.” She plopped onto her chair. What was wrong with
Ethan Heyward that made him feel he had to control everything and everybody?

“That’s what I told him, but he wouldn’t listen. He paid me and told me to clear out.”

“I’m truly sorry. I never meant to cause you any trouble. But I doubt there is anything I can do for you, Mr.—”

“Stanhope. Caleb Stanhope. And yes, ma’am, there is something you can do.”

She waited, one brow raised in question.

“You can give me a job.”

Ethan paused on the dirt trail leading upward from the resort and waited for his breathing to slow. The sounds of dozens of hammers echoed through the thick stand of trees, drowning out the calm burbling of the stream running parallel to the path.