Daylight Comes (21 page)
A heavy, uncomfortable silence cloaked the room as they awaited Grace’s reply. The aroma of Mrs. Ditmore’s too-sweet perfume hung in the air like a cloying accompaniment to the unnerving quiet.
Unable to bear the silence any longer, Truth tapped Moses on the arm. “We could attend the performance with Grace and John. Perhaps you could purchase tickets tomorrow.”
Though the others twittered, one look at Grace’s frown revealed she was unhappy with Truth and her hastily proposed solution. No need discussing the matter further, Truth decided. There would be time enough to argue about the theater tomorrow. But for now, she ignored her sister’s scowl.
Truth smiled to herself, pleased that this evening of entertaining had gone so well. She’d managed to postpone any possible journey to Nicodemus until spring, and if all went according to plan, Grace and John would be attending the theater together next week.
A small pang of guilt struck; she didn’t want to impede the possibility of a rail line passing through Nicodemus. She wanted progress for the town, for she and Moses planned to return to their grand Nicodemus home once his term as state auditor had been completed. However, sending a delegation in the middle of winter made no sense, especially if Grace planned to accompany the group. Truth had nearly assuaged any feelings of guilt by the time their guests departed.
As they waved good-bye to their guests, Grace clutched her arm and tugged her into the parlor. “We need to talk before you retire for the night.”
As she had feared, the
talk
was much more a speech than a conversation. In fact, Grace didn’t pause long enough for Truth to interject one word. Truth half listened while her sister rambled on about the impropriety of attending the theater with John, as well as John’s obvious interest in courting her. Then she took Truth to task for what she considered Truth’s blatant disregard for the residents of Nicodemus.
Those particular comments stirred Truth to defend herself, but only briefly. Finally, she raised her hand and signaled her sister to stop. “I’m tired and I’m going to bed. Moses is already upstairs, and Dovie has likely been asleep for at least half an hour. You may feel free to continue your lecture tomorrow.” That said, Truth rose from her chair. She longed to glide swiftly across the room with an air of decorum. Instead, she swayed back and forth in an ungainly fashion, feeling more like a waddling duck than a regal woman.
She could feel her sister’s glare follow her as she departed the room. Relief washed over her as she ascended the stairs, for at least Grace had finally terminated her lecture.
Nicodemus , Kansas
•
March 1883
It was only March, but thoughts of spring loomed in Ezekiel Harban’s mind, and he’d noticed recently that most of the Nicodemus residents seemed to be suffering from cabin fever.
Though the weather remained unusually cold and snow covered the ground, it wouldn’t be long until the crocuses poked through the frozen soil of the small flower gardens in the township and announced spring’s arrival. Ezekiel had no complaints about the snow—it provided a blanket of protection to his crop of winter wheat—but he sure was looking forward to warmer weather.
He wrapped his large hands around a cup of coffee and eyed the letter lying on the table. He figured Grace had saved postage and sent his letter along with one to Silas. No one could deny that Grace had been faithful in her letter writing, though he didn’t think Silas had been keeping up on his end. The young man struggled with both his reading and writing, and Ezekiel was of no help to him. Silas had gone to Jarena on a couple of occasions to ask her assistance, but Jarena had told Ezekiel that Silas hadn’t been to see her recently. He understood that—what young man wanted someone else scrutinizing his words of endearment?—but he wondered if Silas had managed to send even one letter. And what was Grace thinking about the lack of correspondence?
Since Grace’s departure, Silas had continued to help Ezekiel with his farm even though the young man had more than enough to keep him busy on his own acreage. Ezekiel was thankful for both the help and the young man’s company. Accordingly, he didn’t alienate him with prying questions about letter writing.
Silas came into the kitchen, poured himself a cup of coffee, and sat down opposite Ezekiel. Silas tapped the folded piece of paper on the tabletop. “Guess you already figured that there letter’s fer you. I picked up the mail when I was in town. It’s from Grace.”
Ezekiel grunted in the affirmative. “I figured that myself. Ain’ no one else gonna send us letters in one envelope.” He straightened in his chair. “Mebbe she’s writin’ to tell me Truth’s had her young’un.
Can you read it for me?”
“Truth ain’t had the baby yet. I read my letter afore I come inside.”
He held up the sheet of paper. “You still want me to try an’ read this?”
Ezekiel nodded before downing another mouthful of coffee. Silas read slowly, stumbling over several words, but at the first mention of the railroad, Ezekiel waved his hand and slowed him to a snail’s pace.
He listened carefully, wanting to understand every word Grace had to say about the Ditmores. The railroad coming to Nicodemus was his greatest wish, and he didn’t want to build false hope by misunderstanding. This letter sounded very encouraging: Grace and a couple of influential men might visit Nicodemus in the spring.
Ezekiel slapped his beefy hand on the table, and his coffee cup skipped across the wooden surface. He grabbed hold of the cup and gulped the final drops of coffee. “That there is some good news. Folks is gonna be mighty excited to hear ’bout this.”
“We’ll see if she keeps her promise this time.” Silas folded the letter and handed it back to Ezekiel.
“What’s that s’posed to mean? Grace ain’ broke no promises.”
“Mebbe not to you, but she told me she’d be home for a visit afore the baby was born. I sure ain’t seen her darkening any doorways in Nicodemus. Have you?”
“Nope, I ain’ seen her. But you’s smart enough to know folks ain’ gonna be making extra trips back and forth across this here state during the dead of winter. I don’ care what Grace tol’ ya.” Ezekiel touched his index finger to the side of his head. “I think you’s got enough up there to a knowed better, now ain’t ya?”
Ezekiel reached across the table and gave the young man a jovial slap on the shoulder. Instead of being pleased Grace would soon be paying him a visit, the young man was busy feeling sorry for himself. Pushing aside his intention to remain aloof, Ezekiel decided to jolt Silas out of his pitiful self-righteous mood. “I s’pose you posted a letter to Grace when you went into town to pick up this here mail.” Ezekiel waved the piece of paper back and forth.
Silas folded his muscular arms and met Ezekiel’s piercing stare. “Naw. I ain’ been able to find the right words to put in a letter. I know what I wanna say, but it never seems to sound right when I get it on the paper.”
“Iffen you ain’ even written one letter, I’d say you got no complaint. Fer all that gal knows, you found someone else to take her place. You ever think ’bout that?” he said, pointed a warning finger in Silas’s direction.
“Grace knows better. Ain’t no one could turn my head when I’m hopin’ to marry her. ’Sides, she knows Jarena or someone else would write and tell her if I was looking at another gal.”
Ezekiel shrugged his broad shoulders. “Womenfolk don’ think the same as us. Iffen you’s smart and want to hold onto her, you best set a pen to paper and tell her so.”
Silas shoved his long arms into his heavy wool coat as he headed toward the door. He pushed a floppy-brimmed felt hat onto his head and waved as he opened the door. “I’ll stop back over in a couple days.”
“You mind what I tol’ ya, Silas.”
The door closed with a heavy thud. Ezekiel had said more than he’d intended, and now he wondered if he should have remained silent. He would have except for Jarena’s comment last week.
“Sounds to me like Grace might be developing more than a mere friendship with John Rockley,”
she’d said. He figured Jarena knew exactly what was going on between Grace and Mr. Rockley, but she didn’t reveal any specifics, and Ezekiel wouldn’t inquire. Right now, he was more interested in finding out about the town’s chances of wooing one of the railroad companies to run a line through Nicodemus.
The town had gathered and discussed the issue at length. In fact, some of the residents had written letters to several of the railroad lines pledging support and requesting a commitment. Thus far, they’d been unsuccessful in receiving any promises. But if these men Grace had mentioned would lend their assistance, perhaps they’d stand a better chance. Possibly one of the roads would push farther west with a northern route across Kansas even sooner than anticipated . . . maybe even this summer!
Truth stared at the envelope. The handwriting was neat, the letters well formed—superior to what she would have expected from Fern. Though she had never asked, Truth assumed the housekeeper had received little in the way of education.
Moses dropped down beside her on the settee and tapped his finger on the envelope. “Aren’t you going to open that? I made a special trip home. I thought you’d be anxious to hear how Fern was faring in Nicodemus.”
“Yes, of course.” Truth slipped the point of her letter opener beneath the flap and neatly slit open the thick envelope. She removed the folded pages from the envelope and glanced at her husband. “Appears she’s written us a lengthy letter. What could be going on in our empty house that would take up so many pages of explanation?”
Truth pressed open the pages and silently began to read.
Dear Mrs. Wyman, I hope this letter finds you well and happy in Topeka. All remains fine with your home. I have not had any problems caring for it as you requested.
Truth sighed and met her husband’s steady gaze. “She says all is fine with the house.”
“Well, that much is good news. What else does she say?”
Truth returned to reading.
I would very much like to continue my position as your housekeeper, but first I must tell you of a change in circumstances. I considered keeping this matter a secret. However, I have had a long talk with Pastor James from over at the First Baptist Church, and he said I should tell you the truth. He says honesty is always repaid with kindness and I hope that will remain true in this circumstance. You will recall that prior to your departure Arthur Wilson had expressed an interest in me. Our devotion to one another flourished, and although Arthur’s parents aren’t particularly fond of me (particularly his mother), we were secretly married. As of this writing, we have not told anyone except Pastor James. And now you, of course. Arthur doesn’t know how his parents will react to this news. In addition, there isn’t adequate space in their rooms above the store to accommodate two families.
Would you heartily object if Arthur moved into your house with me?
I pray you will be accepting of this idea as we have nowhere else to go. We would not take advantage and you could forego payment of my wages as payment for Arthur’s lodging. I give you my word, I will continue to look after the house with due diligence. I anxiously await your response.
Your servant, Fern Kingston
The pages fluttered to Truth’s lap. “Fern has secretly married Arthur Wilson!”
Moses retrieved the letter and quickly scanned the contents. He laughed and slapped his leg. “I thought she’d have him at the altar before six months had passed.”
“But what of her request, Moses? Do we permit them to live in our house? I’m not certain I like the idea.”
“Why? Arthur is a fine young man, and what Fern has said is true.
Living with his parents would be difficult. Arthur’s days working at the store will be misery enough. You know his mother’s tongue will wag against Fern and their marriage from morning until evening. The young man will need some form of escape.” Moses folded the letter and handed it to his wife. “In addition, you want someone living at the house. There is no one else readily available. Fern has shown herself to be trustworthy by sending this letter. I say we let her and Arthur remain.”
“I suppose you’re correct. I’ll write a letter to her this afternoon, and you can post it in the morning.” Truth tucked the letter into the envelope and shook her head.
“What is it that befuddles you, my dear?”
“The fact that Fern has chosen Pastor James as her advisor. Knowing him, he’ll lead her to Jesus, and Arthur and Fern will become the first white members of First Baptist.”
Moses grinned. “Not such a bad thing. Not such a bad thing at all.”
Macia hesitated outside her father’s office, contemplating whether she should go in. Her father had willingly come to Mr. Faraday’s assistance once. She doubted he’d take kindly to helping the man again, especially since Mr. Faraday hadn’t learned from his earlier near catastrophe. At least it
appeared
he hadn’t learned anything. Yet how could Macia help Camille on her own? Her father was the only one Mr. Faraday listened to.
Macia peeked through the office door. Seeing no one in the waiting room, she drew in a deep breath and opened the door. “Father?”
“In here, Macia.”
She followed the sound of his voice. She guessed he was reading one of the many medical books that filled his office bookcases. Her father was leaning back in his large, cushioned chair, his shoes resting atop one corner of the desk. His reading spectacles were perched on the tip of his nose. Her father placed the book on his desk and lowered his feet to the floor as he met her worried look.
The robust scent of the tobacco blend her father tamped into his pipe several times a day wafted through the room as if to greet her.
Though her mother wouldn’t permit him to smoke his pipe in the house, her father had never completely given up the habit. “What brings you to the office? Not feeling well?”
Macia plopped into one of the chairs across the desk from him.
“I’m fine, Father. Well, at least physically.” She glanced toward the waiting room. “Are you expecting any patients?”
“No. Mrs. Cafferty was my final patient for today. Unless an emergency should arise.” Leaning forward, he rested his arms atop his shiny mahogany desk. “Now, tell me what brings you to the office on this blustery March day—nothing better to do than walk about in a cold, gusty wind?”
Macia cleared her throat and told him of her recent meeting with Camille Faraday. Her father’s face tightened as she relayed what Camille had told her, and Macia feared his anger would outweigh his willingness to once again be drawn into the pharmacist’s familial difficulties.
Leaning back in his chair, Dr. Boyle pulled the intricately carved pipe from his pocket and cupped the bowl in his right hand. “I truly don’t know what I can do in this instance, Macia. Even if what Camille tells you is true, how can I approach him? He’d wonder how I came by this information, don’t you think?”
Macia absently tapped his desk with her fingers as she gave the matter thought. The fact that Mr. Faraday was illegally selling medicines that contained high levels of alcohol and opiates to finance his gambling habit wouldn’t be public knowledge. Yet those who gambled with Mr. Faraday knew how he came by his gambling money. In addition, Mrs. Faraday had become suspicious when her husband’s sales and the diminishing pharmacy stock didn’t balance. And now, Mrs. Faraday had charged Camille with the task of acting as her father’s overseer—an unseemly arrangement for their daughter.
Macia fidgeted with her handbag for a moment and then perked to attention when she got an idea. “Why don’t you state your case and if he should ask, tell him you promised you’d not break a confidence?”
Macia bobbed her head excitedly. “Should he ask, you can honestly tell him the information didn’t come from any member of his family.”
Her father packed a pinch of tobacco into his pipe and tamped it tightly into the bowl. “I don’t like meddling into—”
“Please, Father. If you won’t do it for Camille, please say you’ll do it for me. I can’t imagine how difficult this is for her. If you could have seen her when she was telling me—”
“Oh, I suppose it won’t hurt to have a talk with Faraday. However, if the man didn’t learn his lesson when he nearly lost his house, I doubt another visit with him is going to have much impact.” He held a match to the bowl of his pipe and sucked on the amber stem. Once the fire took hold, he took a deep draw on his pipe. “I’ll give it a try if it will make you happy.”
Quickly circling her father’s desk, Macia leaned down and kissed his lightly stubbled cheek. “Thank you. I’m very happy
you’re
my father. I can’t imagine having someone like Mr. Faraday as a parent.”
