Читать книгу Hill Country Christmas - Laurie Kingery - Страница 12

“Who can find a virtuous woman?” Delia read in the last chapter of the book of Proverbs three mornings later after Tucker had come to see her. She loved to read her Bible there, with the sun just beginning to warm the worn wood of the rocker. Even the raucous cries of the grackles, hunting bugs among the grass, didn’t usually bother her, though they could be disruptive when she tried to pray!

She was getting mighty tired of drinking her coffee without sugar, Delia mused as she sipped the unsweetened brew. She had used the very last of the sugar yesterday, so a trip back into town to sell her eggs was a must. And maybe while she was in town, Amos Dawson would see her going by the bank and run out to let her know the certificate had been confirmed by the bank in Nevada.

Delia, time enough for worldly business later. The Lord deserves your full attention right now. She could almost hear her grandfather’s cracked voice saying the words.

“For her price is far above rubies.” Why, it wouldn’t be long until she could buy rubies—or at the very least, those garnet earbobs in the window of the mercantile that she had been yearning for forever.

Oh, please, God, don’t let anyone buy them before the bank in Nevada releases my money! Wouldn’t it be wonderful to march right over to the mercantile and make the garnet earbobs my very first purchase?

But then in her head she heard, “For the love of money is the root of all evil.”

The voice was so clear that she had to look around her to make sure Reverend McKinney wasn’t standing behind her.

But how could it be wrong to rejoice in the windfall her father had provided for her? Her grandfather and she had had to skimp and save for so many years—surely the only thing she needed to regret was that he wasn’t here to be given the comforts she could now provide!

Her eyes skipped down the page of her grandfather’s well-worn Bible with his many handwritten notations in the margins to the verse: She consider-eth a field, and buyeth it.

Perhaps she’d be considering a field soon, though she’d rather plant a house on it than the vineyard the verse went on to mention. A big, fine, white-painted frame house, with lots of rooms. She’d have one room just to store her clothes in, another for her jewelry, another to entertain her many guests—perhaps even a ballroom on the second floor, with a veranda extending around at least two sides of the structure.

Skimming over the verses that showed the virtuous woman rising early and working long into the night, she read, “Her clothing is silk and purple.” Well, wasn’t that marvelous? She’d love to have a lace-edged silk camisole and pantalets under a purple silk dress with a bustle. It had always been one of her favorite colors. Perhaps she would take a few minutes this very day to study the better fabrics in the mercantile, the ones she’d never even allowed herself to look at back in the hardscrabble days when she and her dear old grandfather had not been sure where supper was coming from.

But you’re in mourning, a voice within reminded her, and she felt a twinge of guilt at the greedy path her thoughts had wandered onto. Propriety dictated that she wouldn’t be wearing anything but black any time soon. And she would have to graduate from black slowly, lightening the somber hue with gray or lilac.

“Her husband is known in the gates,” the text went on, “when he sitteth among the elders of the land.”

“Miss Delia?” A familiar voice intruded as she read the twenty-third verse. Delia looked up to see a landau parked outside the fence and Charles Ladley coming down the stone-flagged walkway, one hand using a carved mahogany walking cane, the other clutching a bouquet of velvety red roses.

She jumped to her feet, hardly able to believe her eyes. Her abrupt motion sent the china cup clattering off the arm of the rocker. Fortunately the cup didn’t break, for it had fallen into the folds of the shawl she had shed as soon as the coffee had warmed her, but it was still half-full. With dismay, Delia saw the brown liquid splash against the hem of her everyday calico dress and soak into the dark folds of the shawl.

“Oh! Charles! I-I’m sorry, I didn’t s-see you coming!” she stammered, horribly aware of the untidy picture she made. Her hair was still in the plait she had braided at bedtime last night, with tendrils escaping it and curling wildly around her face. If only she was wearing something better than the dress she had donned to go feed the chickens! She had planned to change before her trip to town. Hopefully she had no feathers clinging to her….

“No, it’s I who should apologize for intruding on a lady in the midst of her devotions,” he said with that smile that was like a thousand lit candles. “I just came to bring you these,” he added, extending the hand that held the roses, “picked from my mother’s garden this very morning—with her permission, of course.” He winked. As if to testify to the truth of his words, the crimson petals sparkled with dewdrops in the sunlight.

“Thank you so much,” she said, wanting to surreptitiously pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. Charles Ladley had just brought her flowers.

“Won’t you have some coffee?” she said, accepting the roses with a hand that she prayed wasn’t trembling with the delight that she felt. How heavenly it would be to sit on the front porch sipping coffee with Charles Ladley, for all the world to see! Wouldn’t it be fun if nosy neighbor Mrs. Purvis peeked out of her kitchen window and saw them!

Charles’s smile dimmed with regret. “I’m afraid I can’t stay—I must attend the Committee for Civic Improvement meeting that’s due to start in—” he reached down and turned the face of the gold pocket watch on his waistcoat so he could see it “—just a few minutes. I only came to bring you these, to let you know we were thinking of you, Father, Mother and I, and to ask you if you’d consent to go with me to the church social on Saturday night. I know it’s disgracefully late to be asking you—you’ve probably long ago agreed to attend with some other beau, one of your many admirers…” His voice trailed off as if he was uncertain of her acceptance.

Delia was conscious of an urge to laugh at the very absurdity of his suggestion that she had a string of other beaux. “Why, no, Charles, I’m happy to say I haven’t,” she said, remembering not to admit no one else had asked her. “I always used to go to these occasions with Grandpa….” Her voice trailed off.

“Ah…I didn’t mean to make you sad, Miss Delia,” he said, leaning over to wipe away the stray tear from her eye. “If you think it’s too soon since his passing to attend a social event, I’ll understand.” His face was a study of disappointment.

“Oh…oh no!” she said quickly, alarmed that Charles would think she was still too full of grief to be good company. “That is, I think Grandpa would want me to go and have a good time.”

Ladley’s face cleared. “Then we shall go,” he said, “and lift our glasses of punch in his honor. I’ll call for you at six, if that’s agreeable, Miss Delia.”

“That would be lovely.” Then she had a sudden thought. “Charles, you know that…that is, you won’t mind that I—I must wear black, will you?” She had longed forever to be invited out by Charles Ladley—now she had been and she was forced to wear that lifeless color! How she wished she could don some bright, festive color—anything but black! But she could imagine how tongues would wag if she violated the ironclad rules that governed mourning.

“Of course not,” he responded. “Miss Delia, I’ve always admired your virtuousness, your—” he seemed to struggle for the right word “—moral excellence. I will be proud to be seen with you, even if you choose to wear a flour sack—dyed black, of course.”

Delia couldn’t help but chuckle with him at the thought. “I solemnly promise I will not be wearing a flour sack when you call for me on Saturday night.”

He pretended to mop his brow in relief, causing her to laugh again. “Very well then,” he said, bowing, as courtly as any European prince. “Six o’clock on Saturday it is.”

He turned to go, and as Delia watched him walk away, she saw that he was favoring his left leg slightly, leaning more heavily on his cane when stepping onto his left foot.

“Charles, you’re limping.” She was touched to see him pause and turn back toward her, seemingly as loath to leave as she was to see him go. “Is your war wound bothering you?”

Everyone in Llano Crossing knew the mayor’s son had marched off to join the first Texas cavalry regiment formed, and that he had been wounded and sent home in the middle of the war.

“Miss Delia, you are kindness itself to notice,” Ladley said. “But don’t concern yourself. Yes, the old wound aches whenever it’s about to rain. With any luck it’ll be better by Saturday, and I can leave this cane at home.” He waved and continued down the walk to the waiting landau. Delia’s heart warmed with compassion as she saw how he strove to conceal a grimace of pain as he climbed up onto the platform.

With Charles’s carriage out of sight, she allowed herself a celebratory twirl of delight, hugging herself with sheer joy. Charles Ladley had asked her to the church social! He said he appreciated her virtue and her moral excellence!

Well, she might have to wear black to the church social, but it didn’t have to be that borrowed, ugly bombazine she’d worn to Grandpa’s funeral! She’d seen a black moire silk dress with satin ribbon trim at the neck and cuffs in the window of Miss Susan’s shop, but the price tag had been one that had made her walk regretfully on. Perhaps, if she hinted to Miss Susan that she was about to come into some funds, the seamstress would extend credit to her and agree to make any needed alterations, so that Delia could go to the party, resplendent in a beautiful new dress—even if it was black!

Was it going to rain? Delia studied the sky and was surprised to see clouds forming up in the west. She must have been oblivious to them developing while she and Charles had been talking. Would she have to wait until later to do her shopping?

Absolutely not! That’s what umbrellas were for! She was Miss Delia Keller, who was about to become a very rich young woman—what were mere raindrops to her? As happy as she felt, she wouldn’t even notice them!

The dress fit as if Miss Susan had known she would be the one wearing it. It clung to Delia’s figure, enhancing her curves without being at all revealing, and the lace trim at the waist emphasized Delia’s lithe frame.

“It will only need,” the rawboned, horse-faced seamstress opined, “a slight shortening of the sleeves and a few tucks in the waist, since you, Miss Delia, are one of the few ladies in Llano Crossing who don’t need to be tightly corseted. It would be a joy to see my creation on you, Miss Delia.”

Delia thanked her. “Would you be able to have it ready by Saturday afternoon? I would like to wear it to the church social.”

“My dear, I can have it for you by tomorrow morning. Business isn’t what it once was, before the war,” Miss Susan said, her expression wistful.

Now came the hard part. “Miss Susan, I hate to ask this favor, but would you be able to extend me credit? Only for a week or so, I promise you,” she hastened to add, as she saw dismay flash across the old seamstress’s face. “I…I could leave Grandpa’s watch with you as a guarantee. The truth is, while I’m not yet at liberty to discuss the details, I’m about to inherit some money.”

Miss Susan eyed Delia skeptically, and Delia felt a flush of embarrassment creep up her face. Perhaps she had better resign herself to wearing the ugly, old, borrowed bombazine, after all.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to give me some hint of what you mean, Miss Keller. I’m only a poor woman trying to make a living with my needle, and as I’ve said, that’s been rather difficult in the last few years. I’d have starved to death long ago if I hadn’t been wary of giving credit.”

“I-I’m attending the social with Charles Ladley,” Delia said, hoping to distract Miss Susan away from the source of the expected windfall.

Miss Susan’s eyes brightened, and she said, “Well, that’s real fine, Miss Delia. You two would make a right handsome couple, a handsome couple indeed.”

Delia smothered her inward sigh of relief when the seamstress continued. “But I hope you aren’t suggesting I extend you credit on the basis of one outing with the mayor’s son, are you? I’ve lived in Llano Crossing since Charley Ladley was teething, and I’ve seen him squire any number of belles around. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to do better than that to convince me you can eventually pay for this dress.” Miss Susan held it up, brandishing it as if it were a weapon.

Delia sighed. “All right, but you must promise not to say a word if I tell you….” She broke off, her eyes searching the older woman’s face, and seeing sympathy warring with practicality in those dark eyes behind her thick-lensed spectacles. Delia knew the moment when sympathy won—along with an honest dose of curiosity.

Miss Susan drew herself up to her full height. “I think you may safely trust in my discretion, especially toward our late preacher’s granddaughter.” She paused after this prim pronouncement, clearly waiting.

Delia told her the story of her father’s untimely death in the mining accident and that she was only waiting to have it confirmed by the Nevada bank that her father had indeed left her a vast sum.

Miss Susan’s mouth dropped open long before the end of Delia’s recital, and she sank onto a nearby stool. “My, my. So that’s where Will Keller went—I always wondered. And he left you wealthy—isn’t that a wonderment?” she cried. “Why, of course you may pay me later for the dress, Delia—as long as you promise to let me continue to be your dressmaker when you come into your riches! Why, I can already picture what glorious gowns I can fashion for you, my dear! Of course, it’s a pity you’re in mourning, but just you wait until that time is up! I’ve no doubt the mayor’s son will have to use that fancy cane of his to beat off your other swains, Delia!”

The two women were smiling with delight at each other when suddenly from the back came the crash of a door being shoved open with such force that it rebounded against the wall. Delia heard the intruder mutter a curse word as a muffled clatter announced that he’d knocked over something heavy.

Miss Susan gave a low cry and seemed to shrink against Delia, trembling.

“Wha—who’s that?” Delia demanded, even as a cowboy, his eyes red-rimmed and bleary, shoved the curtain dividing the rooms aside and lumbered into view.

“D-Donley, y-you just wait in the back for a minute until I’m done with this customer—” Miss Susan quavered.

“Gimme it now, woman!” the man roared, lurching forward unsteadily. Even from where she stood, Delia could smell the stale whiskey fumes.

Miss Susan darted a frightened look at Delia. “Please excuse me, Miss Keller—the dress will be ready tomorrow. Now, Donley, come to the back,” she said, taking hold of the drunken man’s elbow and trying to guide him back in the direction from which he had come.

“I’ll knock y-you inta th’ middle of nesht w-week!” the man yelled, throwing Miss Susan roughly against the wall. Miss Susan screamed as Donley cocked his fist.

With a shriek of fury, Delia launched herself at the inebriated man, only to be knocked flat on her back by the man’s shove. Even as she tried to right herself to go to Miss Susan’s defense again, she heard a shout from outside. Then the front door was yanked open and a pair of booted legs dashed past her.

Dazed, she saw that Jude Tucker had seized Donley in a headlock and, despite the man’s ineffectual attempts to hit him in the midsection while shouting slurred curse words, was silently dragging him out the door past her. Delia managed to rise just in time to see Jude throw him into the street.

He landed smack in the middle of a new pile of horse droppings. A couple of cowboys, lounging indolently across the street, straightened and strode forward as if they knew him, glaring at Jude while they hoisted the man to his unsteady feet.

“Make sure he doesn’t bother these folks again,” Jude told them and turned back to Delia and Miss Susan, who by now were standing at the door, openmouthed.

He ushered them back inside. “You ladies all right?” he said, eyeing them each in turn. He gave no sign that he’d met Delia only a few days before.

Delia nodded, staring at Miss Susan, whose face was pale as bleached bones and pearled with sweat. “I’m fine. But she—he shoved her hard…”

“Why don’t you sit down, ma’am,” Jude said, gently propelling a shaking Miss Susan into a chair by a table stacked with dog-eared Godey’s Lady’s Books. He knelt beside the chair. “I’m Jude Tucker. I’m new in town, just staying a spell before passing on. Any bones broken?” he said, peering at her and smiling encouragingly.

Miss Susan, clearly dazed, stared at him and shook her head.

“I’m Delia Keller,” Delia said, playing along. “And this is Miss Susan. It’s her shop. Who was that man, Miss Susan?”

“I’m all right. Thank you, Mr. Tucker, for inter-venin’. I-I’m sorry you saw that, Miss Delia. Please…”

Delia knew she was trying to find a way to ask them to go now, to spare her any further embarrassment, but Delia knew they couldn’t just leave her like that.

“Who was he?” she asked again. “I want to help you.”

Miss Susan’s eyes, huge behind her spectacles, blinked back tears. She buried her head in her hands.

“He won’t hurt me,” she said, “as long as I’m quick to give him money when he wants it.”

“But why should you do that?” Jude asked. “What call does he have to demand anything of you?”

Miss Susan stared up at Delia, her lower lip quivering. “I guess the least I can do is explain after you’ve both come to my aid,” she said. “But I depend on your discretion.”

“You have it,” Jude said, and Delia nodded, too.

“Donley Morrison is my husband, Miss Keller. I left him because he beat me—repeatedly.”

“Your…your husband? But I thought you were never married,” Delia amended hastily.

“That’s what all of Llano Crossing thinks, and I prefer it that way,” the older woman said, visibly gathering her dignity around her like a cloak. “I came to town believing I had eluded him, but he followed me and went to work for that rancher, Dixon Miller. Usually he leaves me alone—except when he has no money left for whiskey.”

“But you’ve left him…” Delia stared at Jude, feeling out of her depth.

“He won’t let me go. And I haven’t the means to flee farther.”

“I’ll go get the sheriff,” Jude said, rising. “He’ll put him in jail for assaulting you.”

“Sheriff Jenkins is one of Dixon Miller’s cronies,” Miss Susan told him wearily. “He’s the wealthiest rancher in these parts.”

“Then you must come and live with me,” Delia said, surprising herself. “He won’t bother you there.”

Miss Susan shook her head. “If I don’t leave things as they are, he’d force me to come back to him. He’d tell everyone he was my lawful husband and I abandoned him, and then who will come to my shop?”

“But if the truth was known—” Delia began.

Miss Susan raised a hand. “Leave things as they are. It’ll be all right…though I thank you both for your kindness.” She lifted her head then, her eyes pleading with them to understand her need to hang on to what pride she had left.

Delia was silent for a moment, terribly saddened by what she had just heard. “All right, Miss Susan,” she said, gathering up her reticule, “but I want you to know you must come to me if anything else happens and you change your mind.”

She didn’t leave until the seamstress nodded.