A Thousand Little Blessings (10 page)

Etta had a lot on her mind, and maybe a walk alone would help her sort things out.

“Go ahead. I'm going to stretch out and relax. If I hear any screams, I'll rescue you from the terrible snake you've stumbled across.”

She rolled her lovely blue-gray eyes again. “There are only four kinds of venomous snakes in Texas, and I know how to recognize them. You won't hear any screams from me.”

“I like that tough talk. You sound like a man already.”

She shook her head as if to dismiss his preposterous suggestion and headed toward the creek.

Gabriel laid down on the sheet, one arm under his head for a pillow. He closed his eyes and listened to the soothing sounds of a Texas spring. Was that a mockingbird singing nearby or a catbird? A breeze ruffled his hair as he released a bit of his ever-present restlessness. It was good to be home. To lie in the shade and listen to the creek, and to know that battlefields and violent death were far away. He'd spent many afternoons daydreaming when he'd been a boy, wondering about his future and constructing imaginary bridges across incredulously deep gorges. He'd come back as an older and warier version of that boy. He'd come back while others rested in French cemeteries for eternity.

Nichols motioned for him to follow.

But Nichols was dead. He was having a dream. Wasn't he? Nichols held out a tin with black letters. “Have some, Lieutenant. Have some Zucker.”

Gabriel sipped his black coffee. “No, thanks. Save it for yourself.”

“I ain't got no use for it, Lieutenant. You take the sugar.” Nichols poured the white crystals into Gabriel's cup. “Take it all.” He emptied the container, causing Gabriel's cup to overflow.

Gabriel watched the white grains fall slowly into the mud. “You're wasting it, Nichols.”

The soldier smirked. “Don't matter now. Nothing matters now.” He laughed and then climbed out of the foxhole and ran into clouds of yellow gas.

“Stop!” Gabriel shouted. “Come back!” The private looked back and shook his head. “Get back here!” Gabriel commanded.

Nichols ran ahead, heedless of Gabriel's commands. Shells hit nearby, turning clods of dirt and stone into showers of shrapnel, but Nichols advanced steadily toward the line of fire.

“Nichols!” Gabriel's shout was useless in the barrage. He threw his metal cup on the ground and grabbed his rifle.

Someone shook his shoulder. “Gabriel?”

Gabriel sprang to a standing position, his hands fisted at his waist. Where was he? What had happened to Nichols? Why was Etta kneeling beside his feet? His rapid pulse roared in his ears. He rubbed a hand across his face and commanded his heartbeat to slow. He wasn't in France. It had been another dream. One more chapter in the ongoing saga of his futile quest for peaceful sleep. “Sorry,” he muttered.

Etta sat back on her heels. “I wanted to let you sleep, but it sounded like you were having a nightmare.”

“Yeah.” Gabriel shoved his hands through his hair and rubbed his eyes, trying to banish the dream into the land of nightmares. “Sorry I drifted off. I haven't been sleeping very well.”

“It's all right.” Etta returned to her spot on the sheet and picked up a blue and white cloth. “Go back to sleep if you'd like. I was sewing while you napped.”

Gabriel scanned the landscape as he searched his mind for remnants of the nightmare. But there was no danger. Nichols's scornful laugh was safely tucked into the compartment where Gabriel hid his bitterest memories.

He drank the last of his lemonade, sat down, and watched Etta. Her needle moved rhythmically through the cloth, in and out, in and out. Even though she had her share of problems to overcome, Etta's inner serenity shone. “What are you making?”

“I'm piecing together quilt squares my mother made. See?” She held out the cloth. “Your mother's going to help me make this into a real quilt.”

“Do you like to sew?”

“Goodness, no. I'm basically teaching myself as I go along. But my mother left it unfinished, and I…” Etta's voice trailed off.

Gabriel's heart winced to hear grief shadow Etta's usually peaceful voice. “My mother will enjoy spending time with you. She thinks you're one in a million.”

Etta cleared her throat and returned to her stitching. “Sara's been a lifesaver these last few weeks.”

What should he say? He didn't have the right words to ease Etta's heartache any more than he had the solution to her problem at the bank. Perhaps it was time to lighten the mood. “What else do you have in those saddle bags?” he asked, making his voice as cheerful as possible. “I was hoping for cookies.”

“If you like ginger, you're in luck.” Etta retrieved a checkered napkin and passed it to Gabriel.

He took two cookies and passed the napkin back to her. “Did you bake these?”

“I'm a much better banker than a baker. The credit goes to our housekeeper, Rosa.”

He chewed the cookie slowly. Although he would have never predicted it, Etta Davis, daughter of the richest man in town, was becoming important to him. He'd left faith and hope on the battlefield, but whenever she was near, a calm reassurance surrounded him. “I have a confession to make.”

Her eyes twinkled with humor. “Sounds serious.”

She thought he was teasing, and for a moment, he reconsidered his words. But he wanted her friendship, and keeping secrets wasn't the way to make a friend. “I walked by here during my first night home. I saw you that night.”

Her smile melted and concern filled her eyes. “I didn't see you.”

“Didn't want to startle you, so I kept to the far side. I overheard you praying.”

Etta folded the cloth and tucked it into the saddle bag. “That was right after my father's stroke.”

“I didn't know who you were then. Now that we're becoming friends, it doesn't feel right to keep it a secret.”

She walked toward her mare and threw the saddle bags over the horse's back. When she returned, her eyes were serious and her voice soft. “If you see me here again, will you let me know? I understand you didn't want to frighten me that night, but I don't like the idea of someone secretly watching me.”

Gabriel stood and folded the sheet. “That's a fair request. One more thing. Don't tell my mother about my bad dream or that I'm having trouble sleeping. I don't want to worry her.”

“I'll keep your secret. After all, you're keeping mine.” She held out her hand as if to shake on the deal.

Gabriel took her hand and looked into her eyes. There was something special about Etta. Despite her anxieties, a calm presence permeated her spirit. She seemed to have that intangible characteristic of certainty that everything would turn out all right with the world.

What a blessing it would be to have more of that in his life. But if Etta knew what he'd done in France, she'd turn her back on him.

Gabriel dropped Etta's hand and held her horse's bridle while she swung into the saddle. He'd have to make sure she never learned the secret that plagued him.

 

 

 

 

5

 

Etta spread out the account books on the kitchen table. The CPA would be in Burnet soon. If she could find a pattern in the accounts, something that didn't make sense or couldn't be verified, she'd at least have a lead when he arrived.

A soft breeze ruffled the white voile curtains over the sink. Perhaps she should work in her father's library, but the lamplight made that room dark and lonely. It was filled with her father's books and mementos, and smelled of her father's cologne. In contrast, the kitchen was bright and cheerful. Her mother had painted the walls a pale yellow and the cabinets a pristine white. Cheerful prints of ripe cherries decorated the walls and cherry-themed dish towels hung from a peg rack near the ice box.

Rosa shuffled into the kitchen and clucked her tongue. “I hope you don't plan to stay up all night with those books.”

“I'll go to bed soon,” Etta promised as she sharpened a pencil. “Papa ate all of his dinner tonight.”

Rosa sat down across from Etta. “When a sick person starts to eat, it's a sure sign he's getting better.”

“But he's so grumpy. I've never known Papa to be so ill-tempered for so long.”

“Well, mija, you got to remember who your Papa is. He's Mr. Big Boss. Always in charge. Always giving orders. And then, just like that,” Rosa snapped her fingers, “he can't do nothing for himself.”

“I telephoned Dr. Russell today. He said Papa was making slow progress, but he still thinks Papa should go to the hospital in Dallas.”

“You did what was best for your Papa. Don't you know that?”

“I hope so. If Momma were here, she'd know what to do.”

Rosa reached across the table and patted Etta's arm. “If your momma were here, maybe she'd help Mr. Henry, but she couldn't help with the bank. You're the only one who can do that.” Rosa stood and poured cups of tea for herself and Etta. “I saw you're almost finished sewing the quilt squares together.”

“It gives me something to do while I visit with Papa every evening. Every stitch is like a little prayer to God.” Etta mimicked sewing with a needle and thread. “Please help Papa get better. Please help me do the right thing at the bank. Please help Papa get better. Please help me do the right thing at the bank. Over and over and over.”

Rosa nodded her head slowly. “You're making a quilt full of prayers.”

“Maybe. I hadn't thought of it that way.”

Rosa sipped her tea in silence while Etta perused the account book for farm and ranch loans. After several minutes, Rosa broke the silence. “How's Benito doing?”

Etta looked up from the column of numbers she'd been adding. “As far as I know, he's doing fine. I'm sure Gabriel would have said something if Benito wasn't doing a good job.”

“What do you think about asking him to take care of your momma's flowers?”

Etta frowned. “Aren't some of the ladies from the church coming by to work in the garden?”

“Not really. Two ladies came yesterday, but they didn't do very much. They watered the plants and they cut a lot of your momma's flowers, but I don't think that's what you meant when you asked them to work in the garden.”

“They cut Momma's flowers?”

“They put them in baskets and carried them away.”

“Maybe they're going to use them in the sanctuary.”

“Maybe.” Rosa's frown made it clear that she didn't believe the ladies had such charitable intentions.

“Does Benito have time? He's still in high school, isn't he?”

“He's graduating in a few months, and then he's going to college. He's trying to save money for his education.”

“I didn't know he wanted to go to college. What's he going to study?”

“He wants to be a teacher. First one in our family to go to college.” Rosa's pride shone in her dark eyes.

“Well, of course he can take over the garden. I'll put some extra cash in his pay envelope. And the next time I see him, I'll have to tell him how proud I am of him, too.”

Charlie Simpson pushed through the kitchen's swinging door. “Evenin', everybody. How's it going?”

Etta couldn't help but smile at Charlie. How in the world did he maintain such a cheerful disposition? No matter how her father treated him, Charlie was always chipper. “Is Papa asleep?”

“Snoring like a tuba in an oom-pah-pah band. I'll check on him before I turn in.”

“How much longer before he recovers his speech?”

“Hard to say, Miss Davis. He's regaining some of his muscle strength, and he can stand for about a minute, but relearning how to talk usually takes longer. But don't you worry. Old Charlie's on the job. Before you know it, your Papa will be reading the Sunday newspaper to you.”

That will be a wonderful day. “And what about you, Mr. Simpson. Is there anything you need?”

Charlie cut his gaze to Rosa. “Actually… there is something I was hoping for…”

“I know what you want,” Rosa said. She stood and removed a pan of bread pudding from the warming box atop the stove. “How do you stay so skinny with all the food you eat?”

“Just lucky, I guess,” Charlie answered with an impish grin. “I knew living and working here was the answer to my prayers, but I didn't know the Lord had a bonus in store. Rosa is a great cook.”

“Such a smooth talker,” Rosa said as she spooned bread pudding into a bowl. “You want some, mija?”

Etta shook her head.

Charlie tasted the dessert and waggled his eyebrows. “Mmm…best cook in Texas, that's what I say. If you don't watch out, Miss Davis, somebody might steal Rosa.”

Rosa clucked her tongue as she placed a glass of milk in front of Charlie. “I'm not going nowhere. I got my own room, my own kitchen, and my family only a few miles away.
Voy a quedarme aquí hasta que voy a la gloria.
”

“Ah, Rosa, come on,” Charlie protested. “You know I don't speak Spanish.”

“She said she's going to stay here until she goes to Glory,” Etta translated.

“Is that right?” Charlie asked. “Well, that suits me. I don't have no other plans.”

Etta looked at Rosa, but the older woman quickly looked away.

Charlie couldn't have been much clearer about his intentions.

Rosa muttered something in Spanish as she cleared the table and returned the bread pudding to the stove. “You two can stay up all night, but I'm going to bed.” She patted Etta's shoulder. “Goodnight, mija.”

Etta covered Rosa's hand with hers. “Goodnight.”

Rosa walked up the back stairs.

Etta returned her attention to the account books while Charlie ate in silence. But being quiet was not in Charlie's nature, and after a few minutes, he interrupted Etta's concentration.