An imperfect promise, p.4
An Imperfect Promise, page 4
Mr. Collins ushered him into the room that seemed even more quiet and lush than the main lobby. His footsteps echoed against the parquet floor until he reached a lavish carpet in the center of the room, with an intricate medallion in the middle and flowers of various colors flowing from it. Mr. Collins closed the door with a soft click and strode around John, motioning to an elaborate and large oak desk. He indicated the chair John should sit in, then sat on the other side of the desk, opening the empty folder.
“You understand I need to find out a bit about you before I can help you in any way. The bank doesn’t prosper if we can’t collect what we lend, and a town without a bank is no town at all.” Mr. Collins laughed as he took a sheet of paper from his desk and started scratching notes on it.
John nodded, taking in the painting of Jesus on one wall and the Last Supper on the other. Was the man an actual churchgoer, or were the pictures there to remind folks to be honest?
Mr. Collins’s chair squealed under his weight as he shifted, bringing John’s attention back. “Good, now. Tell me a bit about yourself, John. What are you doing here? Where do you live? How do you make your money? And how do you intend to pay us back?” He leaned forward and grabbed a fresh piece of paper and dipped his pen in an inkwell inlayed in the desk.
John rested his forearms on the armrests of the chair, gripping the edges, and slid back in his seat. His gut twisted at the thought of asking for money, especially from this place of wealthy people who would judge him for his lack, but there was no other choice. “I just arrived yesterday, from Kansas. I can get references from there, if you want them. I’m Martha Madsen’s brother and will be taking over her farm. She has said the place is mine.”
“Ah, yes. I’d wondered when she was going to get help. Tough situation.” He scratched away on the paper, his face turned down.
Nothing about the man seemed genuine.
“I understand what she says about who owns the land, but Mr. Dowd, legally it is still in Dallas’s name. If you’re in the will, you’ll get it upon his death, but I don’t think Dallas is capable of signing over his deed to you right now.” Mr. Collins reclined in his seat. “Do you have any other legitimate ways of making an income?”
John wanted to reach across the desk and smash the man’s nose down into it for even mildly insinuating he wasn’t honest. His sister had asked him to come. He was no cheat. “Yes, well. There’s been some damage to the property and some loss of head. I’d like to be able to fix the barn and hire a few men to help me out. There’s stock ready for sale, but not if I don’t have help to get it there. I just want to get the place profitable again.”
“I understand, Mr. Dowd.” The banker crossed one ankle over his knee as he pushed back from the desk and far away from his paperwork. His lips and eyes drooped in mock pity. “The problem is this: you’re asking for money from a bank, with no collateral, not even the land you’re trying to fix. It isn’t yours. You have no income except that of cattle you don’t own. To fix a barn that will be mine in a few months. I must think of the investors, the townspeople. We don’t make money on promises. We learned from mistakes made in the past. Farmers come needing homes and equipment, but they have no jobs, no collateral. When they lose everything—and I’ll tell you, a good number of them do—then I have to take it and sell it off. It doesn’t sit well with me or the community, so we don’t lend money without proof you can pay it back.”
“If I had the money to pay you back, I wouldn’t need to borrow any.” He growled and tucked his chin, unable to keep from glaring at the smug banker.
“Everyone who has an account here has a stake in the future of this town and this bank. Now, if you want to set up an account, that would be a good start, but until you have that deed or something you can use to secure a loan, I’m afraid I have to say no. You’re just too big of a risk.” He pushed his chair back and stood, thrusting his hand in John’s face. “You have a good day.”
John bit the sides of his mouth to keep irate words from spilling out. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand where the banker was coming from, but just where else could he get money? He stood on legs that didn’t want to hold his weight and shook the banker’s hand, hoping his grip wasn’t as limp as he felt.
5
Gini pulled a thread through the cotton fabric of the dress she’d been fixing. The new Mrs. Malton had just gotten in the family way and insisted on new and altered garments. Talk about town and within the shop had been rife with speculation about how quickly she’d become pregnant. It gave Gini’s boss, Mrs. Dewey, plenty to gossip over as they sewed new garments and let out hems for the woman, who seemed happier than a bluebird.
Mrs. Dewey had huffed and tried to explain to the newly expectant bride that her dresses wouldn’t need to be let out for quite some time, but the woman was so excited she couldn’t be dissuaded. That had been last week. She’d been in every day since to check on them, making Mrs. Dewey even more unbearable to work with than usual. Gini had been thankful for Mrs. Timms over the last week to keep her mostly out of the shop and out of Mrs. Dewey’s hair.
Mrs. Malton’s gowns gave Gini something to consider as well. She’d gone to Martha’s to get milk that morning, and the place had been eerily quiet. She’d hoped for another glimpse of Martha’s brother, but he hadn’t come. Gini’s glance flitted from the hem she was sewing to the bright front window and caught and held on a man who could only be John sauntering up the street toward the livery. The side of her mouth lifted, and she let the dress lay in her lap, momentarily forgotten.
He’d shaved and cleaned up real nice. He was handsome, that was for sure. Hints of his light brown hair peeked from under his wide-brimmed hat. His broad shoulders were accentuated by the fine black vest he’d worn for his trip to town, but he wasn’t overly muscular. The ladies in the street waved at him and smiled, stopping to speak to him and greet him as a newcomer. It was so strange how their manner and walk changed as soon as they saw him coming.
Gini shifted her attention back to the pretty lemon-colored dress in her hands. Her own old dress didn’t measure up in comparison. He wouldn’t even notice her in her frumpy, ill-fitting clothes. And her hair. She sighed and fingered the terribly short locks.
It would do no good to dream anyway. The children were her life, and she’d best remember that. She flounced the dress, then couldn’t help letting her gaze stray back up at John. The men tipped their hats or stopped to introduce themselves. She wondered what he was doing in town and if he’d be heading home soon. If he were, perhaps she could ask for a ride. It was fun to dream about such things, but she’d never be so bold as to ask. He seemed to take in the whole town, then stopped and stared at the front of her building, and she felt the heat of a blush crawl up her neck. Even knowing he couldn’t possibly see her sitting there, it excited her every sense to pretend he might be looking for her.
Mrs. Dewey cleared her throat. “I pay you for garments, Gini, not gawking. Get your attention back on that dress. It won’t sew itself.”
Sufficiently chastised, Gini checked the needle to make sure the thread was still in the eye. “Yes, Mrs. Dewey.” She picked up the soft cotton of the skirt and sewed the last few stitches along the hem. When she started a dart down the side of the bodice that would be let out later, John was nowhere to be found. Most likely he wouldn’t have anything to do with her. Men just never did. No one really did. He was too fine a man for her anyway. As a landowner, he would soon be a member of the community, and all the eligible young ladies would be looking for their fathers to introduce them. She’d have to be content just looking at John. No matter. Injustice had sat on her doorstep since she was born—it wouldn’t kill her now.
She blew a curly copper wisp of hair from her eyes, hair that hadn’t mattered a few days ago. Now, her vanity wished she had it back. At least with her hair she almost passed for the young woman she was. Though whom was she fooling? Her work-worn hands and tiny frame wouldn’t appeal to anyone. Hadn’t she learned that over a life of disappointment? With very little hair or curves, no one would think she appeared womanly at all, leastwise, not by her estimation. Even small girls had enough hair to pull back. She scowled at the bit of curl, which had fallen right back in front of her face, and raked the unruly lock behind her ear.
Gini counted the number of garments she’d made that week. Only four adjustments. She had to work to earn extra money for the orphanage, and she couldn’t do a job that required her to come in every day, in case she couldn’t because of the children. The seamstress job had seemed perfect, except Mrs. Dewey was a penny pincher and mean as an old rooster. With the orphanage roof needing attention, and the town unable or unwilling to help, Gini wouldn’t be able to put anything away this week. If only she could give something else to John for the milk, those eggs she brought over every day could be sold to the mercantile to at least help pay for the things the children needed. So often the reverend had asked for help, but no one seemed able to.
She shook her head and set to work, the sun giving her the good light she needed in the front alcove of the store. One dress done for the afternoon, four more to go.
Mrs. Dewey pulled out her pocket watch and frowned, closing it with a resounding snap. Her hooked nose and squinting eyes cast a chilly glance Gini’s way.
“I’m closing up a bit early this afternoon. I have some family in town, and they’ll be over soon. You may come in to work the next few days, but I may not be here. Why don’t you head on home? My guests can get a bit loud.”
“I’m used to noise. I’d really like to finish this, if I may. I think she’ll want her dresses quickly. She’s so excited, and we are quite busy.”
“Just because you’re lazy and can’t get anything done in a day doesn’t mean you can stay when I tell you to go.” Mrs. Dewey stood and scowled. “And that woman may be excited, but she’ll just have to wait like everyone else. It’s pure foolishness to change all those dresses before you need to. What if she loses the child? Then she’ll be stuck with clothes she can’t wear and a constant reminder of her failure.”
Gini gasped, and the face of each of her dear charges flooded before her. Unwanted children, but loved. “What a horrible thing to say,” she whispered, putting her needle, thread, and small scissors in her case. She breathed deeply to rein in her feelings and tried to council herself. Remember—she is standing between you and poverty. Kind words… Gini bit her lip to keep from speaking before she thought her words through. She put her case behind the front counter, staying at Mrs. Dewey’s back in the hopes she wouldn’t have to hear any more talk. The dress lay on the settee, and she lifted the light cotton frock and shook out the wrinkles. By the time Mrs. Malton needed it, she’d have to wear something heavier, as it would be cold, but that wasn’t Gini’s business.
Her sewing list would be completed, and she would collect her meager portion at the end of the week. The frock hung limp with its widened hem against the dress form, with Mrs. Malton’s various other frocks hanging or lying around the shop. Gini dodged around them and picked up her lunch pail and bonnet. Mrs. Dewey shoved her out the back door and locked it up, not even turning around before she rushed up the back stairs to her apartment.
6
John rode toward the house and gave Commander, his sleek black gelding, a slack rein. What could he possibly do about the farm now? The money just wasn’t there to fix the damage, and even if he’d had the time, there wasn’t enough head left to breed the number of good stock he’d need to make the money. It would take a couple of years—years he didn’t have—considering the small amount of money in his stash. He could lose the place altogether or be dead from starvation by then. There had to be a way. He felt deep within that he was supposed to be here on this land. The house would grow on him eventually.
When he approached the fork in the road, he directed Commander to the left. The fence came into view, and it led his eye toward his sister’s home. That fence was all that stood between him and ruin. If he lost the few head he had left, he’d be sunk. As Commander loped closer to home, smoke rose from a small fire just ahead in his own pasture. The breeze had kept him from seeing it earlier.
He caught sight of a man fanning the fire with his coat. He’d caught the man red handed. The arsonist tossed some dry grass on the heap and took off at a dead run through John’s pasture. Giving Commander a quick squeeze with his knees, the horse shot forward. John’s muscles clenched as he pulled up on the reins and tossed his leg over, sliding down the horse’s flank. No one belonged on his property. He had to make a choice. If he gave chase, he couldn’t deal with the fire, which was blazing worse by the moment. John couldn’t do much about the arsonist, couldn’t even describe him, but he could stop the fire from doing any more damage to a fence he couldn’t afford to repair.
John searched for something, anything, that wasn’t attached to him. Why did the prairie have to be so barren? He flung his hat off and swiped at the fire, trying to smother it before it lit the brush and flamed too big to deal with. His fence had been hacked into kindling and was as dry as the desert. Lucky for John, he’d rode in before the intruder could spread the blaze. He grabbed the logs by their outer edges and tossed them into the clover, hoping the heat would leach off quickly.
He heard shuffling feet behind him and glanced over his shoulder, fully expecting someone else to set upon him, with the way his day had gone so far. A beautiful red-haired angel showed up instead.
“Oh, my goodness! Let me help you with that!” Gini’s voice wrapped around him and soothed the raw edges. He stood upright. The man in him wanted to tell her to go on home, that he didn’t need her help. This wasn’t women’s work. Another part of him, a part that had been quiet his whole life, told him to shut his yap for once and let her be. His gut wrenched in the indecision. He didn’t have time to deal with Gini and a fire.
“I don’t expect you to help me with this. It’s messy, hard work for a lady.” He went back to patting and smothering the flames.
She ignored him and slipped down the ditch to his fence line. She hung her knit market bag on the nearest whole post and yanked her work apron from within, flipping it over her head in one quick motion, and began pulling posts and rails from the smoldering stack with her small leather-gloved hands. “I have a few minutes before I’m missed at home for supper. You needn’t worry about me.” She smiled briefly at him. “This is what neighbors do.”
“It must be a busy supper time over there.” He threw the rail as far away as he could, for some reason needing her to notice his physical strength.
She laughed, a soft sound that made him stop short. “Yes, with ten children to feed, it does get a bit boisterous.”
He tossed his destroyed hat to the side and rolled the fence rails under his boots to put out the last of the fire. “Ten? Land sakes, how did you manage that?” John sucked in his breath. What a terribly personal thing to ask someone he hardly knew. How did this woman affect his sensibilities so? He searched the ground, inspecting his work, hoping she wouldn’t think him too forward.
“Well, I don’t have much choice. They come, and we care for them.” She smiled, pulling another bit of pole from the pile and wiping her sooty gloves on her once-white apron. “I’m really sorry. I’ve dawdled about as long as I dare. I have to get home. Will you be all right, or should I send Thomas over to help you finish up here?”
Thomas, was that the name of her husband? If so, he didn’t wish to meet the man. He shook his head, wishing he had his hat back. He didn’t quite feel centered around Gini, like having her near left him off balance. “I’m almost done here anyway. Thank you for the offer and the help.” He nodded toward her. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning with the eggs.” He tried to keep his voice relaxed, and failed. He’d missed her that morning. He’d already been out riding the pastures to check on the few head he had left. He’d have to make a schedule change if he wanted to see her, and he found he did.
Her thin cheeks warmed slightly. “I’m sure you will.”
He forced himself back to work instead of watching her slight waist and womanly hips sway her away down the road. How women could walk that way was a mystery to him. They always seemed to float on air, while men just loped along, like a cloud compared to a mule.
John finished rolling the last log under his foot and waited to make sure it wouldn’t light again. He bent to retrieve his hat and slapped the useless garment against his thigh.
Commander stood next to John’s bit of the river that ran through his westernmost pasture and wound up through the north pasture that connected to Gini’s property. If he could find an old bucket along the river, he could dump some river water over the rails to ensure they wouldn’t spark back up.
He strode along the river. The water ran low, much lower than it had been the day before. He looked upstream and saw a crude dam built across it, preventing all but a trickle of water from running through. He’d have to dismantle it, but not now. It would take too long, and his closest pen was fed by a windmill, not the stream. A keen desire to get home and make sure everything was all right there gnawed at him.
At least he’d managed to save the part of the fence that intersected the closest pasture to the barn so he still had one enclosed fence right up close to the house. His cattle were still penned but would soon run out of grazing land if he didn’t get these troubles sorted out quickly. He might run out of pasture before cattle, and if he ran out of either, he’d lose the farm.
As much as he’d like to see more of Gini, there was too much damage around his property to ignore that it was caused by sabotage. That meant Gini had to stay far away or risk getting hurt. Besides, he best not forget she had a husband. He stuck his foot in the stirrup and pushed off the ground onto Commander. Gini had been coming to his sister’s to trade eggs for so long it seemed silly asking her to stop, but then again, the fence hadn’t done anything to provoke whoever had cut it up and set it ablaze. It had just been in the wrong place.
