Daylight Comes (16 page)
Camille lowered her head and fidgeted, obviously uncomfortable.
Just as Macia decided she should withdraw her question, Camille said she’d overheard her father and a skinny pock-faced peddler talking the previous afternoon. “He asked my father if
I
came with the house. Why else would he ask such a thing?”
In an attempt to assuage Camille’s fears, Macia replied the comment could mean any number of things. However, when pressed, she couldn’t name even one alternative. “Let’s wait until we know there’s something to worry about. I know my father will do anything he can to help.” With a tilt of her head, Macia motioned toward the library.
“If you don’t at least greet Lucy, I’ll never be forgiven. I hope you have a few moments to say hello.”
Camille nodded. “I’ll peek in, but I must return before I’m missed. I told Father I was going for a short walk. I’m sure he thought me daft, what with the cold weather, but he waved me off when his card-playing friends arrived.” She grasped Macia’s hand. “You won’t mention this to anyone except your father, will you? I’d rather no one else knows just yet.”
Macia gently embraced the young woman. “You needn’t worry. I’ll not breathe a word.”
Hill City , Kansas
Macia donned her heavy blue woolen coat and hat and tucked her hands into her white fur muff as she descended the front porch steps. She’d gotten Lucy settled with a supply of art paper, paintbrushes, and oil paints that had been packed away since their move to Hill City. Though Macia doubted the quality of the paints was the same after several years in storage, Lucy had doggedly insisted they would be fine. And so Macia had set up an easel of sorts near one of the tall library windows.
Shortly before Macia departed, Lucy had secured her place as the Boyles’ artist in residence.
As far as Macia was concerned, the best possible painting would be one that captured Lucy’s likeness as she sat at her easel attempting to paint. Macia wondered if she could possibly create a decent likeness of Lucy. Though she’d once had artistic talent, it had been years since she’d taken up a paintbrush.
Her fanciful idea disappeared as she neared the pharmacy. She hoped Camille would be in the store. Otherwise, she’d be forced to make a purchase and return at a later time. As she approached the front door, she spied Camille standing at the counter; she didn’t catch sight of Mr. Faraday anywhere nearby.
The moment she entered the door, Camille rounded the counter and neared her side. “My father is in the back room.”
Before she could say another word, Mr. Faraday entered the room. “Macia! What brings you out on this cold morning? I hope your mother isn’t ill.”
Macia shook her head. “No, but thank you for your concern. I was going over to the general store and stopped to see if Camille would like to join me for a cup of tea—if you can do without her help for a short time.” Mr. Faraday’s shoulders tightened, straining the buttons on his cassimere vest. He cast a wary glance in his daughter’s direction. Macia feared he sensed something might be amiss as she’d never before stopped by the store to invite Camille to join her for tea.
Hoping to ease any suspicion, Macia shrugged her shoulders and grinned. “I’ve been cooped up with Lucy Malone, and I long to talk to someone my own age for a short time. You
did
know Lucy had moved in with us until she recuperates, didn’t you?”
Mr. Faraday nodded. “Yes. Your father told me.” His shoulders remained rigid, but he said, “Don’t be gone too long.”
“I won’t.” Camille grabbed her coat, and the two of them headed for the door. Moving side by side, they bowed their heads against the stinging wind and crossed the street. Macia sensed that if she turned and looked back, she’d see Mr. Faraday watching after them.
The table near the front of the store was unoccupied, a propitious happenstance. Garrett walked from the rear of the store and greeted Macia with a broad smile. “I fear you ladies will have only me to assist you with your shopping today. My aunt and uncle departed for Ellis before sunup.” He waved toward the merchandise-laden shelves and tables with a worried look in his eyes. “Believe me, I’m going to need your help locating anything that isn’t easily within view.”
Macia couldn’t help but commiserate. He looked like a forlorn child on the first day of school. She quickly explained he’d have no trouble with them since they wanted only a cup of tea and she’d be happy to take care of that particular chore. Leaving Camille to secure the small table, she walked alongside Garrett to the heating stove, where a pot of coffee and a pot of tea simmered during the winter months. She was thrilled with their good fortune: they wouldn’t have to contend with Mrs. Johnson’s attempts to overhear their conversation.
Garrett handed her two empty cups. “I was wondering if you’d like to join me for supper tonight. If there’s enough moonlight, we could even go ice skating.”
The expectancy in his eyes made the offer difficult to refuse. “Thank you for the kind invitation, Garrett. However, Lucy Malone is staying with us until—”
“I don’t think Lucy would mind if you went out for one evening. Surely you’re not going to refuse all invitations until her broken leg has mended.”
“No, but we’ve begun a new project. She’s trying her hand at painting, and—”
“I understand Jeb is joining you each evening, also.”
Did she detect a hint of irritation in his words? Well, she would set the record straight here and now. “
I
didn’t extend the invitation to Jeb. My father did so as a kindness to Lucy.”
Garrett looked heavenward.
Now certain he didn’t believe her, Macia forged onward. “My father realized Lucy would miss seeing her brother each day. Jeb spends his time visiting with Lucy,
not
with me.”
Macia glanced over her shoulder. Camille was staring at the grandfather clock in a nearby corner. Though Garrett didn’t seem convinced, Macia hadn’t come to the store to argue with him. In fact, she hadn’t come to see him at all! She needed to get back to the table.
Accordingly, she placed the cups on one of the small trays Mrs. Johnson used for serving coffee to her customers.
“Camille doesn’t have much time. She’s needed back at the pharmacy soon.” Lifting the tray, she stepped around him.
“Since you won’t go out with me, perhaps you could set an extra place at your dining table this evening?”
Knowing he hoped to detain her, Macia merely smiled. “We’ll talk before I depart for home.”
After a quick apology for her delay, Macia seated herself across from Camille. With their heads close together, the young ladies talked in hushed tones as customers entered and departed the store.
Two of the regular checker players arrived and stood nearby until Macia waved them off with a promise she and Camille would be leaving in only a few more minutes.
She disliked delivering her father’s message about the deed, for she knew it would only compound Camille’s fears. Only Mr. Faraday’s name had been placed on the deed to the house. Although Dr. Boyle related he had questioned Mr. Faraday’s decision, the man had been insistent. On the day they’d made the transfer, he’d declared his wife had taken ill and couldn’t possibly be in attendance. Mr. Faraday had stated his wife was in total agreement. In addition, the purchase money had already exchanged hands—so how could Macia’s parents argue against signing the deed?
As they prepared to leave, Macia clasped Camille’s hand. “My father said he will help in any way possible. He frequently talks to your father regarding medication for his patients and thought he might broach the subject without arousing suspicion.”
“I need time to think before doing anything further. Give your father my thanks, but tell him not to do anything until he hears from me.”
“You had best hurry back to the store. I told Garrett I’d speak to him before I departed for home.”
The girls bid each other good-bye, and Macia gathered up the cups. She’d barely removed them from the table when the two men rushed over, collapsed into the chairs, and began to set up their checkerboard.
She replaced the tray and surveyed the room, finally locating
Garrett, who was now surrounded by several customers. Two more women entered the store, and she decided the remainder of their conversation could wait until another day. Besides, she had made it clear that Jeb’s nightly presence in her home was due solely to Lucy’s condition.
Macia’s father had barely finished saying grace when Gerta hurried back into the dining room. She clasped one hand to her chest and breathlessly announced Mr. Garrett Johnson was in the foyer insisting he had received a supper invitation—for this evening. The housekeeper’s eyes darted around the table. “Who invited a guest without telling me to prepare more food?” Her voice warbled by nearly a full octave as she spoke.
All eyes immediately focused on Macia, and Jeb appeared particularly amused by her predicament. Ignoring his obvious enjoyment of the situation, Macia excused herself and motioned to Gerta. Drawing the girl aside, she hastened to explain and offered her apologies. She didn’t want Gerta overly upset, for her family would not soon forgive her if Gerta quit her employment. With the woman’s excellent cooking skills and pleasant personality, she’d quickly developed into an essential member of the Boyle household. Macia volunteered to be served last; thus she would be the only one shorted if there was insufficient food. Gerta agreed to hurriedly set another place at the table while Macia greeted Garrett.
He smiled broadly as she approached. “When you didn’t stop to visit any further, I assumed you were expecting me for supper.”
Macia didn’t respond. Instead, she motioned Garrett forward. She suspected he didn’t actually believe he had been expected for supper, and she surmised he was taking an aggressive stand to prove his point.
Surely he realized this encounter would cause her discomfort. She didn’t chide him for his rude behavior, but he’d not win her favor if he continued down this path.
Supper proved to be exactly what Macia had expected—a disaster.
Knowing Gerta had prepared for one less guest than the current company, Jeb cheerfully and consistently helped himself to heaping portions from every bowl and plate that circled the table. When Macia scowled in his direction, he merely winked and increased the size of his helpings even more.
And then there was Lucy. She announced how happy she was living in the same house with Macia. Obviously feeling optimistic by the encouragement she received in return, she continued, telling the entire group that she wished Macia and Jeb would reconsider marriage so the three of them could be together all of the time. An uncomfortable silence followed, and Macia wondered if Jeb had encouraged Lucy’s remark.
Although Jeb had been cordial during his daily visits, he and Macia had engaged in only one private discussion—and that talk had consisted of matters related to Fern’s departure and Lucy’s medical care. There had definitely not been any mention of renewing their old relationship.
When supper was finally over, Macia suggested Lucy take Jeb into the library and show him the painting she’d begun earlier in the day.
Lucy leaned forward to peek around Garrett. “Do come with us, Macia. You can show Jeb some of your paintings, too.”
Macia winced as Garrett clasped his water goblet with an intensity that threatened to shatter the piece of glassware. “You and Jeb go along,” she said. “I believe I’ll visit with Garrett in the parlor.” She sighed with relief when the twosome finally heeded her suggestion.
Regrettably, the respite was brief. When she once again refused Garrett’s invitation to go ice skating, he grew unusually quiet, with his few answers to her questions pithy and his mood sullen. “I believe you’re still in love with him.” He folded his arms tightly across his broad chest. “If that’s the case, I’d rather know right now.”
How could she truthfully answer Garrett’s question when even she didn’t know the depth of her persistent feelings for Jeb Malone? On the one hand, she detested what Jeb had done. He should have waited for her to return from Europe. On the other hand, had the situation been reversed, she wasn’t sure she would have acted any differently.
And, truth be told, she
had
given thought to a future with Jeb— especially since Fern’s recent departure. Lucy’s presence in the house kept Jeb at the forefront of Macia’s thoughts.
“I can see you’re having difficulty answering my question. Unfortunately, that tells me I’m correct in my assumption.” Garrett brushed a lock of hair from his forehead as he stood to leave.
Macia grasped his hand. “Please, Garrett. Let me explain. Try to understand that at this moment, I’m not certain how I feel about either of you.”
She released his hand as he stepped away. “I’m surprised you would give Jeb a second thought after the way he treated you. However, I’ll not make a fool of myself by fighting for your attentions.
When you come to a decision, you let me know.” He glanced over his shoulder as he walked from the room. “Like Jeb, I won’t wait forever. I don’t intend to play second fiddle to the man who jilted you, either.”
Macia hugged herself against the stinging pain of Garrett’s final words. She wanted to stop him before he walked out. Instead, she remained silent and motionless as he left the house without another word.
Nicodemus , Kansas
F
ern shivered inside her heavy winter coat as the frigid December air wrapped around her body. She hunched her shoulders against a gust of the icy wind, warming herself with thoughts of her accomplishments since arriving in Nicodemus two weeks earlier. Even Mr. and Mrs. Wyman had been surprised by her rapid integration into community life. Thus far, she’d arranged for work at Mr. Wilson’s general store beginning the first of the year. Soon thereafter, she’d convinced the Wilsons’ son, Arthur, he would be a fool if he didn’t begin courting her. At theWilsons’ invitation, she had attended church services at their home with a few other white members of the community. The population of Nicodemus might all join together for their parades, picnics, and other celebrations, but folks didn’t gather under the same roof to worship God. Oh no, that was one place where they all agreed to separate.
Never having thought much about church, or even God for that matter—Fern had naïvely inquired if it wouldn’t be more convenient for everyone to attend one of the churches in town. By the horrified look on Mrs. Wilson’s face, Fern would have thought she’d suggested robbing a bank. The older woman had finally sputtered something about combined worship being a foolish suggestion. But Fern still didn’t understand why the color of a person’s skin determined where one attended church in Nicodemus. After all, nothing else in the town was decided on that basis. Nonetheless, she followed the rules and attended church at the Wilsons’ house. Not because she was interested in hearing a sermon or was afraid to break the church rule, but because it afforded her one more opportunity to see Arthur Wilson and spend time away from her household duties.
As she entered the general store, Fern scanned the room until she located Arthur stocking shelves near the west wall. Setting her sights upon the young man, she edged around several customers and moved toward him. In spite of her best efforts to avoid Arthur’s mother, the older woman came out from behind a counter where she’d been arranging a new shipment of glassware.
Fern greeted Mrs. Wilson and took a moment to admire the arrangement of berry dishes, cut-glass cruets, and hot chocolate sets.
“Any of these items would make lovely Christmas gifts. And you’ve arranged them in a delightful fashion.” Hoping Mrs. Wilson considered her words of praise sufficient conversation to meet the standard of proper etiquette, Fern attempted to move along. But Mrs. Wilson didn’t budge.
Instead, she held out her hand. “I can help you with your list, Fern. No need bothering Arthur. He has more than enough to keep him busy for the remainder of the day.” Mrs. Wilson snapped the list from between Fern’s fingers and waved her forward. “Follow me.”
What had previously been no more than a vague suspicion had now become abundantly clear. Mrs. Wilson didn’t approve of her, at least not as a prospective bride for her son. Though Fern obligingly followed along behind the woman, she quickly decided she’d not depart the store without accomplishing her mission. When Arthur glanced her way, she crooked her index finger in a comely manner, and when he immediately pushed aside the crate of canned goods and came rushing in her direction, she basked in a moment of self-satisfaction.
Keeping her back to Mrs. Wilson, Fern raised up on tiptoe and whispered in Arthur’s ear. He nodded, though he turned somber the moment his mother looked away from the shelf. It took only a dour look from the woman to send him darting back to his work. Fern cared little, however, for Arthur had shown interest in her. Therefore, she could bear Mrs. Wilson’s taciturn conduct. After all, this wasn’t the first time she’d been forced to handle a disagreeable woman.
Cloaked against the blustery cold that seemed a few degrees warmer than Mrs. Wilson’s manner, Fern walked home. The basket of groceries weighed heavily on her arm as she considered Mrs. Wilson’s behavior. It might have been better to have set her sights on John Green instead of Arthur.
She immediately shuddered, more from the thought of Mr. Green than from the cold. Dire circumstances would be required before she ever considered taking the widower as a suitor.When she’d asked him for a job, the man had appeared more interested in having her become his wife and the stepmother of his two children than hiring her as a clerk in his store. He explained that Mrs. Green had
gone to meet her maker
. Before Fern could express her condolences, he offered to discuss her employment over supper, preferably one that she prepared.
With his rotund body, beefy hands, and bald pate, Fern had no desire to share a meal with him. The fact that he would suggest she cook for him had been the final straw, underscoring the man’s utter lack of charm. She’d refused, departed his establishment, and hastened across the street to the Wilsons’ mercantile, where Arthur had become her marital objective.
Yes, winning over Mrs. Wilson would be easier than spending even a few hours alone with Mr. Green. She needed only to develop a strategy for convincing the woman she would be the proper wife for her son. But she doubted she’d won much favor with Mrs. Wilson this day. On the other hand, if she could help Arthur develop a measure of courage, he could do some of the work for her.
She entered the Wymans’ house using the back door and went into the kitchen to empty her shopping basket. Fern had nearly completed the task when Truth entered the kitchen.
“When you have a free moment, I’d like to discuss the menus and entertaining schedule for the Christmas holiday.”
Entertaining schedule?
It sounded as though Mrs. Wyman had already begun to take on the attitude of big city living. However, how could Fern expect any less? Ever since Mrs. Wyman’s aunt Lilly had returned from her brief visit with Jarena and her family, she’d been encouraging such nonsensical talk. With all her tips on etiquette and entertaining, Lilly Verdue seemed obsessed with Truth’s duty to bolster her husband’s image in Topeka. Fern could only assume that Truth had taken the message to heart and now desired to practice her skills with friends and family. Fern would accommodate the young woman in any way possible—she didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize her position with the Wymans. She’d be alone in this house soon enough.
“No reason why we can’t work on that right now.What events are you planning?”
Before Truth could respond, Lilly sauntered into the kitchen, her hair perfectly coiffed and her nose held a notch higher than necessary.
“Did I hear someone mention planning an event?”
Truth folded the piece of paper she’d carried into the kitchen and tucked it into the pocket of her dress. “I’m merely going over the menu for our Christmas Eve supper. I thought you agreed to help finalize details for the church Christmas program. Aren’t the ladies meeting this afternoon?”
“Jarena said they’ve postponed it until tomorrow afternoon. Hannah Thatcher said she can’t finish writing the program until tomorrow.” Lilly shrugged. “We can’t do much until we have a program.”
Fern raised an eyebrow. Lilly wasn’t the type of woman she expected would be working on a church program. She was more worldly than most of the folks living in Nicodemus. Perhaps she could lend some insight regarding the matter of race and church attendance. . . .
Easing herself onto one of the heavy kitchen chairs, Fern rested an elbow on the table and cupped her chin. “May I ask you a question, Mrs. Verdue?”
The older woman squared her shoulders and looked down her nose at Fern. “Of course.”
Fern decided the woman looked regal—all she needed to complete the illusion was a crown and scepter. She tilted her head upward and looked directly into Lilly’s eyes. “I’ve been wondering how come the coloreds and whites don’t worship together. Can you tell me why it’s that way?”
Lilly’s perfectly tinted lips curved. “That’s what you wanted to ask? Why would you ask
me
? I’m no preacher. I don’t even live in this town.”
“Exactly. That’s why I asked you. I overheard someone mention you had lived in New Orleans and out in Colorado, also. I thought you would know if this is the way of things everywhere. Or is it unique to Nicodemus?”
Lilly eased into a chair across from Fern. “Where you been living all your life, gal?
Course
it’s the way of things.” She paused. “Everywhere!”
“But why? I don’t know much about God, and I never did go to church when I was growing up, but I figured there must be a rule or something.”
Heaving a sigh, Lilly leaned back in her chair. “There’s no rule.
Nobody would stop you from going into one of the churches in town.
And I doubt whether anyone would stop one of us from going to hear Mr. Wilson preach on Sunday morning—but no one will try it. It’s just the way of things.”
Fern shrugged. “Seems odd.” She didn’t inquire any further. Her question seemed to make everyone uncomfortable—even Truth.
After clearing away and washing the breakfast dishes, Fern removed her apron. The others had departed for church. With a final glance in the hallway mirror, she donned her coat and headed out.
Walking briskly to help ward off the cold, she hastened toward the Wilsons’. It mattered little how early or late she arrived; Mrs.Wilson would ensure that the chairs near her son were already occupied. As Fern strode by the newspaper office, she wondered if Mrs. Wilson had exhibited the same dislike for other women who’d shown an interest in Arthur. She fleetingly wondered if Macia Boyle had sent a warning about her to Mrs. Wilson.
Silly!
Macia wouldn’t even know of her recent interest in Arthur Wilson.
As she approached the Baptist church, the sounds emanating from inside the building interrupted her thoughts. Even with the doors and windows closed tight against the cold, she could hear the joyful sounds of singing and clapping. She slowed her pace and finally stopped outside the door, listening, wondering.
Contemplating the idea of going inside, she hesitated and listened a few moments longer. She didn’t want to miss her opportunity to be with Arthur. On the other hand, the sounds of a jubilant celebration beckoned her. Maybe she could go in for just a few moments. . . . As she moved into the back of the church, she was greeted by several wide-eyed stares from the surrounding pews.
Mrs. Verdue had been correct—no one told her to get out. She watched the other worshipers and followed their lead: she clapped, she swayed, and she tried to sing. But she didn’t know the words. And there were no songbooks like the ones she had used at the Wilsons’.
Anyway, there was no way to hold a songbook if you were clapping and dancing. So she moved her mouth as if she were singing the words.
When the music ended, she couldn’t imagine what would happen next. They’d barely taken their seats when the reverend stood before the crowd. Unlike Mr. Wilson’s monotone teachings that had nearly put her to sleep the past two Sundays, this man’s voice boomed from the front of the church. He paced back and forth, perspiration beading on his dark brow as he held an open Bible in one of his large hands. He jabbed the index finger of his other hand toward the ground and shouted claims of God’s wrath and the fires of hell that awaited those who rejected Jesus. Fern lost all track of time as she listened to the frightening words of the fiery afterlife the man proclaimed.
Finally, she was able to breathe a bit easier, for the preacher said they could all leave church today and never again worry about spending eternity in the flaming pit of hell. He raised his Bible high and proclaimed God had provided a way for sinners to avoid the blazing flames. Fern scooted to the edge of her seat. She didn’t want to miss hearing about her means of escape from eternal damnation.
“Jesus! Jesus is the answer. All you must do is accept Jesus into your heart and ask Him to forgive your sins. Repent and ask Jesus to be your Savior!”
Fern jumped a good two inches when the folks around her began to shout “hallelujah” and “amen.” The man across the aisle sprang to his feet and hollered, “Praise God!” The interruptions didn’t seem to bother the preacher. In fact, he appeared to relish the disruption.
Each time someone called out, he would raise his Bible a little higher and bob his head up and down. And when the church got quiet, the reverend would wave his free hand in the air and shout, “Can I hear an amen?” Then any number of folks would shout amen and the reverend would give a toothy smile, which Fern figured meant he was pleased with the reaction.
She couldn’t muster up enough courage to say anything, although she truly wanted to give it a try and see how it would feel to shout in church. At the few churches she’d attended as a girl, the meetings were like the ones at the Wilsons’ house—solemn and quiet. But not this. This was more like a celebration—a party in which she could participate. She liked it. Except for that part about hell. She wasn’t so sure the preacher had everything correct on that account. She figured there must be something more to avoiding hell than simply asking Jesus to take care of things on her behalf. That sounded too easy.
She startled when she noted the time as she departed the church.
Services would likely be over at the Wilsons’, and Arthur would wonder about her whereabouts. At least she hoped he had been concerned, for she hoped to convince him to spend the afternoon with her. Unfortunately, the bitter temperatures weren’t as conducive to courting as the warmer seasons of the year. Still, she planned to persuade Arthur that an afternoon sitting near a warm fire and watching the ice skaters at the Wymans’ pond would be most delightful.
And so long as Mrs. Wilson didn’t interfere, Fern thought Arthur would seize the opportunity.
Fern climbed the outer stairway that led to the upstairs living quarters of the Wilson family. She didn’t think she’d enjoy such a housing arrangement, but Mrs. Wilson had said she found it wonderfully convenient. Well, she could have it. When Fern and Arthur married, they would build a lovely house of their own. Not so fine as the Wymans’, but one where she would be proud to invite their guests. Of course, if they continued to live in Nicodemus, her opportunities to entertain would be limited. She would have to find out if Arthur would be willing to leave Nicodemus and start his own mercantile in another city.
Yes!
She’d introduce the topic when they were alone this afternoon.
