Daylight Comes (26 page)

He shoved the tainted handkerchief back into his pocket. “And my money? Would it be welcomed?”

Lilly shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“It’s my desire to leave my estate to my son, if he’s truly alive. My will has been drawn to reflect my wishes, and it is in safekeeping at the First National Bank of New Orleans. All I ask is that you send word to my son so that he can file a proper claim upon my death.”

Supporting himself with the cane, Bentley lifted himself up from the chair. “Will you agree?”

“I’ll post a letter once you’ve boarded a train for New Orleans.”

“Agreed.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew the front door key. “You look content, Lilly. Perhaps the West suits you.”

She came around the workbench and accepted the key. “I’ve discovered it’s not where I live that’s given me contentment. I spent far too many years seeking peace and happiness from the wrong things— and so did you, Bentley.”

He made no attempt to stop her as she walked past him and hurried upstairs, speaking to him over her shoulder. “Wait just a moment.”

When she returned, she handed him a small leather-bound Bible.

“Read this on your way home. It’s where I found my answers. I hope you’ll find yours before it’s too late.”

CHAPTER
31

Nicodemus , Kansas

T
hough Fern had looked surprised when Grace arrived, along with the Ditmores and John Rockley, on the doorstep of Truth’s home, she’d welcomed the group with aplomb that surprised Grace. Fern quickly set Arthur to work carrying baggage upstairs while she hastened to remove the dust covers from the furniture.

Fern glanced over her shoulder. “I’m glad Arthur was home for his noonday meal. Your guests have a good deal of luggage.” She opened the pocket doors into the dining room. “We don’t use the parlor, so I thought it best to cover the furniture and keep the doors closed. I do apologize.”

Grace folded one of the sheets and shook her head. “No need for an apology, Fern. You had no way of knowing we would arrive.What else can I do to assist you?”

“Will they be expecting tea right away? I can set a kettle to boil, and I’ll make a grocery list for Arthur. He can stop at the store on his way home from work this evening.” She stopped long enough to catch her breath.

“I’ll help you prepare the tea, and we can plan the meals together, Fern.” Grace silently chastised herself. She should have written to Fern. Even if the letter had arrived only a few days in advance, the housekeeper would have at least had some warning.

Fern raked her hand through her hair and virtually raced to the kitchen. “How long will you folks be staying—so I know how much to purchase?” She asked the question while bolting through the kitchen door. “With just Arthur and me to feed, I don’t keep a large quantity of food on hand. I hope they won’t want fancy food—my cooking is plain. I did a few fancy dishes for Mrs. Boyle, but not much.”

“Please don’t fret.” Grace tried to reassure her. “You can be sure they’ll be pleased with whatever is served. Why don’t you begin making the tea and I’ll jot down a few items Arthur can purchase for us.”

The words appeared to have a calming effect. At least Fern had slowed her frantic pace.

Fern set the kettle on the stove and met Grace’s gaze. “How’s Mrs. Wyman getting on? I was sorry to hear the news about the baby. I should have written to her, but I didn’t know what to say.”

“Thank you for your concern. Her progress has been slow, but she is doing somewhat better. When I write, I’ll tell Truth you asked about her health.”

“That would be kind of you.” Fern pointed at a worktable on the far side of the kitchen. “I baked a gingerbread cake this morning. I could make a lemon sauce for on top if you think folks might want that with their tea.”

Fern certainly wasn’t the same person Grace remembered. She hadn’t had a great deal of contact with Truth’s housekeeper, but from the accounts she’d heard from Macia Boyle, a remarkable change had occurred in Fern’s life. Perhaps it was her marriage to Arthur. Then again, Truth had mentioned that Fern was attending First Baptist— listening to Pastor James on Sunday mornings might have had some effect.

As she prepared for the dinner party she’d planned with Fern, Grace thought about Silas and his cool reception since her return. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was avoiding her. It seemed as if each time she attempted to pull him aside for a moment alone, he found some excuse to sidestep her invitation. Grace decided to take special care with her appearance this evening. Silas would be coming to the party.

After selecting the yellow gown—one of several Truth had insisted upon giving her—Grace prepared for the evening. She tucked a small spray of yellow and white silk blossoms into her hair and pirouetted in front of the large oval mirror. She hoped her efforts would not be in vain.

There was little time to worry if Silas would find her appearance captivating, for the sound of her father’s voice boomed up the stairway only moments later. “Grace! Hello! Ain’ nobody ’round this here place?”

By the time Grace reached the bottom of the stairs, her father was peering into the dining room and Silas was standing in the parlor.

Though she embraced her father, it was Silas she watched. Instead of beaming approval, he stiffly acknowledged her and then immediately ignored her.
Why is he acting so aloof?

Grace glanced at the mantel clock. None of the other guests had come downstairs yet, and a half hour remained before the appointed supper hour. Forcing herself to act boldly, she stepped forward and slipped her hand through the crook of Silas’s arm. “I’d like to talk to you in the garden.”

His forehead wrinkled. “Now?”

“Yes, now. There’s plenty of time before supper. When our guests come down, my father can entertain Mr. and Mrs. Ditmore and Mr.

Rockley for a short time.” With a gentle tug, she pulled him toward the door, stopping only long enough to pick up her shawl. Once they neared the garden, she turned to face him. “I want to know why you’re acting so cold when I’m the one who should be angry with you.”

His head jerked back as though she’d slapped him. “You bring that Rockley fella to town and he’s looking at you like the two of you is all but ready to jump the broom, and you say
I
ain’t got no right to be angry?” He kicked a clod of loose dirt and watched it land in the rose garden. “I’m trying to figure out ’zackly what’s going on with you, Grace.”

“If you won’t talk to me, I don’t know how you plan to figure it out.” She clutched his arm and they wandered toward a wooden bench near one of the small budding oak trees Moses had planted in the backyard. “I won’t deny John has shown an interest in me. However, I told him about you—about us. I can’t control how he looks at me or even what he says, but surely you know . . . Didn’t you read my letters? You’re the one I care about.” Grace eased onto the bench but he remained standing. “What about you, Silas? I didn’t receive even one letter from you while I was in Topeka. Many’s the night I wondered if you had found someone to replace me in your heart.
I
had no letters to reassure me all was well at home.” When she looked up at him again, a shaft of light fell across his face and she saw sorrow in his eyes.

Silas retrieved a folded piece of paper from his front pocket and then sat down beside her. “This here is what I got to show for tryin’ to write you.” He carefully opened the paper and placed it between them on the bench. Using his palm, he pressed out the folds. The edges were tattered and smudges of dirt lined the creases of the letter.

“I been carrying this here piece of paper with me, trying to put on paper how much I care for you and that I wanted you to come home and marry me. I ain’t no good reading and writing—you know that, Grace. I tried. But every time I’d get a few words on the page, I didn’t like ’em. I’d scratch ’em out and put the page back in my pocket. Same thing would happen the next time. This here paper shows that I tried.

But it never did come out the way I wanted.” He leaned forward with his forearms on his thighs.

Grace slid closer to him. “Did you think I would be critical of your handwriting? You knew better than that, Silas.” She touched a corner of the smudged letter. “More than anything, I wanted to know that you were thinking of me and that you missed me. You could have scribbled only a few words on a sheet of paper and I would have been happy.” She picked up the page. It was clear that he’d tried to write her many times. Both sides of the page were covered with his attempted correspondence that was scratched out with either ink or pencil. How she wished he had posted his attempts. For to her, each line was beautiful.

He lightly touched her cheek. “Will you forgive me?” There was a tremor in his voice.

“Yes, I forgive you, Silas.” She folded the piece of paper and tucked it into her pocket.

“You ain’t planning on keeping that ol’ piece of paper, are you?”

She patted the pocket of her dress and nodded. “This is more precious to me than you can imagine. I plan to keep it always. She took his hand and stood up. “We best go inside. The others will be expecting supper soon.”

As the waning sunlight cast a luminescent pattern across the rose garden, he pulled her close and enveloped her in his arms. “They can wait a little longer.” He covered her mouth in a gentle kiss. When their lips pulled apart, he softly touched her cheek. “When we gonna get married, Grace?”

“I think July sounds like a fine time for a wedding.”

“I s’pose I could wait that long if you got your heart set on July.”

There was little talk of anything except the railroad at the dinner party and during the next several days. Grace spent most of her time showing the Ditmores and Mr. Rockley around Nicodemus and introducing them to the shop owners. She noticed Mrs. Ditmore always looked worried, as if she thought a group of renegade Indians or wild animals would attack at any moment. Grace attempted to reassure the woman, but to no avail.

An early morning fog shrouded the town as John and Mr. and Mrs. Ditmore prepared for their return to Topeka. They had deposited their luggage on the front porch and were now gathered near the street, all of them straining to see through the foggy vapor that covered the town like a bridal veil. The clopping of the horses’ hooves and groans of the shifting wagon announced Silas’s arrival before any of them could actually see him. He sat tall on the wagon seat and held the reins firmly as he brought the horses about.

While Silas maneuvered the wagon to a halt in front of the house, Grace removed a letter from her pocket and held it out for John. “I’d be most appreciative if you would deliver this to my sister.” As Grace handed him the envelope, John gently squeezed her fingers. She looked into his eyes and saw sadness. With a soft tug, she pulled her hand from his grasp. “If you wouldn’t find it inconvenient.”

He shook his head. “No. I’ll be pleased to deliver your letter.”

She wanted to tell him she was sorry if he’d misunderstood anything she’d said or done, but before she could speak of such matters, Silas drew near. He embraced Grace around the waist and cheerily requested John’s help with the baggage. Grace bid their guests farewell and received Silas’s good-bye kiss on her cheek. She watched until the wagon rolled out of sight.

The sun peeked over the horizon, and Grace took a moment to enjoy the morning. She was glad to be home where she could once again tend her garden and help her father in the fields.

Like everyone in Nicodemus, she wanted the town to survive, but the Ditmores’ visit hadn’t produced the hope she’d wished it would.

Mr. Ditmore had often said he was just a small cog in the wheel of progress. He’d promised he would carry a banner for Nicodemus, recommend to his many acquaintances at the various railroads a route that would pass through their town, and ask for the support of his group of investors. However, he cautioned that he could only do so much and that there were many towns that wanted the railroad. The railroad officials were the ones who would make the final decisions about where the tracks would be laid.

There was also the issue of money. Mr. Ditmore repeatedly mentioned that Nicodemus had to raise money, for the railroads wanted public subsidies to help pay for their construction costs. The town had begun raising funds over a year ago—not that any of the citizens thought the idea of subsidies was right or proper; after all, the railroads were already making plenty of money. Still, they had little choice but to pay if they wanted tracks passing near their town.Without a railroad, small communities would likely shrivel up and die. And Nicodemus didn’t want to die.

“Mr. Rockley is in the foyer, Truth. He says he has word from Grace. Would you like me to bring him in?”

Truth glanced up from the floor, where she sat playing with young Jake. “Yes, Dovie. Please do.” Truth swooped the baby into her arms and stood to greet her visitor. “John.What a pleasant surprise. I didn’t expect we would see you so soon. Do come in and sit down.” Jacob stretched forward, his chubby arms and legs wiggling as though they would propel him out of Truth’s arms and into the arms of their visitor.

John reached to tousle the toddler’s hair, but gurgling with delight, Jake grabbed the man’s finger and pulled it toward his mouth.

With a chuckle, John pulled his hand away. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, young man.” He raised his brows. “And who is this little fellow?”

“This is Jacob.” Truth pressed her lips close to the child’s ear.

“Jacob, this is Mr. Rockley.” Jacob bounced up and down then twisted around in her arms and began to pull the pins from her hair. Truth gave John an apologetic smile. “Let me see if Dovie will entertain him. Otherwise, I doubt we’ll be able to visit.”

Once Jake had been given over to Dovie’s care, Truth returned to the parlor. “May I offer you refreshments, John?”

“No, but thank you.” He leaned back and crossed one leg over the other. “The child? Does he belong to a friend?”

Truth shook her head. “He’s a ward of St. Vincent’s Orphanage.”

As she explained the side trip she and Moses had recently taken to the orphanage, Truth was struck by the changes that had occurred in her life during the past several days. Good changes. Changes made by reaching out and caring about the needs of someone other than herself. “There are so many children in need at the orphanage. I go each day and help, and usually I bring at least one of the children home with me for several hours.”

“You must write and tell Grace. She will be much relieved to hear of your astonishing recovery.” He tugged at his collar. “During the journey to Nicodemus, she spoke of little other than you.” He laughed nervously. “And the railroad. She wanted to talk about the railroad, too.”

“I’ll write a letter to Grace this evening and tell her about the orphanage and the work I’m doing there.” Truth settled back in her chair. “And Nicodemus? What did you think of our town?”

“With the exception of being primarily populated by our people, I found it quite similar to the other small communities that dot the prairie. All of them are dependent upon good weather and a decent yield on their crops. And all of them fear they’ll shrivel up and die if the railroad bypasses them.” He shrugged. “And they’re probably correct.”

“But that’s not going to happen in Nicodemus, is it?”