Hidden Places (23 page)

‘‘What about your job with the newspaper?’’ I asked. ‘‘Shouldn’t you be getting back to work one of these days?’’

‘‘I’m not sure I still have a job. I gave my editor this address when I sent in my story. I’m still waiting to hear from him.’’

I knew how good Gabe’s hobo story was, and I wondered how much money the newspaper would pay him for it. Enough to settle Frank Wyatt’s loan at the bank? When I looked at the calendar this morning I realized that half of the ninety days Mr. Preston had given me had already passed. I’d saved every cent I’d earned from selling our extra eggs and milk in town, but I knew that it wasn’t going to be enough. Time was running out, and I still had no idea where the money would come from.

Alvin Greer must have realized the time had grown short, too, because he paid me a visit that very afternoon. I heard a car pull into my lane, and when I saw that it was Mr. Greer, I put on my coat and went out onto the back porch to talk to him. I knew it would be neighborly to invite him inside, but I didn’t want him in my parlor again, eyeing everything like he couldn’t wait to get his hands on all of it.

‘‘Good afternoon, Mrs. Wyatt,’’ he said, tipping his hat.

‘‘Good afternoon.’’ I folded my arms across my chest and waited. It didn’t take him long to get the hint and come to the point.

‘‘Are you aware that a gang of hobos has been camping on your property down by the tracks?’’

‘‘Yes, I know.’’

‘‘Would you like me to run them off for you?’’

‘‘No, I told them they may camp there. They have no place else to go.’’

He gave me a stern look. ‘‘Do you think that’s wise? I mean, you’re here all alone with three small children.’’

‘‘It’s the Christian thing to do, isn’t it, Mr. Greer? Doesn’t the Good Book say whatever we do for one of the least of our brethren we do for the Lord?’’

Mr. Greer was trying to hold back his temper as if he had an excited dog on a very short leash. ‘‘I didn’t come here to discuss the Good Book—’’

‘‘Why did you come here?’’

‘‘Well, I got a letter a few weeks back from Mr. Wakefield, your attorney, saying you couldn’t take me up on my offer to buy this place until he’d settled Frank Wyatt’s estate. Now I know these things take time, so I wondered if you could use some help in the meantime?’’

‘‘No, thank you, Mr. Greer. I already have help.’’

He blinked in disbelief. ‘‘You do?’’

It occurred to me that Alvin Greer might recognize Matthew Wyatt so I decided to introduce him to Gabe.

‘‘Yes, sir. My husband’s Aunt Betty has moved in with the children and me to help us out,’’ I explained. ‘‘And I took on a manager to handle the orchard. He’s working out in the barn if you’d like to meet him.’’ I turned and led the way without waiting for Mr. Greer to reply. Gabe stepped through the door just as we arrived. ‘‘There you are,’’ I said. ‘‘I’d like you to meet my neighbor to the north. This is Mr. Alvin Greer.’’ I purposely neglected to introduce Gabe by name, waiting to see how he would introduce himself. Gabe removed his glove and held his hand out to Greer.

‘‘Gabe Harper. How do you do?’’

I watched Greer’s face, waiting for the moment of recognition. It never came. The men exchanged a few pleasantries, but it was quite clear that Greer was suddenly in a big hurry to leave. He had called on me today expecting to find a damsel in distress, and he’d cast himself in the role of my knight in shining armor. The fact that I didn’t need his help, that he wasn’t going to get his hands on Wyatt Orchards, had lit the fuse on his temper and he needed to leave before it exploded.

‘‘What’s wrong with him?’’ Gabe asked as Greer’s car spun out of my driveway.

‘‘I told him you were my manager.’’

‘‘He has a problem with that?’’

‘‘He wants my orchard. He’s just licking his chops, waiting for me to fail so he can take over.’’

‘‘What right would he have to take over your orchard?’’ Gabe asked. He looked peeved as he watched Greer’s car drive away.

‘‘His wife used to be a Wyatt. He figures she’s entitled to it as a blood relation and I’m not.’’

The very next day Dan Foster, the county sheriff, came to pay me a visit. He was a formidable-looking man in his late fifties and as burly and barrel-chested as a prize fighter. He wore a crisp brown uniform with a shiny brass badge pinned on it, and a pistol strapped on his hip. I’d always pitied any criminal who crossed Sheriff Foster’s path. When I saw him climbing out of his car I thought maybe he’d brought news of Matthew, so I hurried outside to invite him in.

‘‘No, thank you, Mrs. Wyatt,’’ he said, tipping his hat. ‘‘It isn’t you I’ve come to see. Alvin Greer tells me you’ve hired a manager and I’d like a word with him, if I may.’’

I stared at him dumbly. Then I recalled Aunt Batty saying that Sheriff Foster’s wife was also a Wyatt and I knew they had ganged up on me.

‘‘Why? What’s this all about, Sheriff?’’

‘‘Alvin tells me the fellow’s a stranger and I—’’

‘‘What business is it of yours if I hire a stranger? Don’t you have anything better to do than run around to every farm in the county and check out their hired hands?’’ I thought he might get riled but he didn’t.

‘‘We’re your neighbors, Eliza. We all understand how hard it must be with your menfolk gone. But why not ask your neighbors for help, first?’’ He spoke kindly and I was a little sorry for being so suspicious of him, but I just couldn’t help it.

‘‘I know you think it’s your job to protect me from strangers, but I can take care of myself, Sheriff. It’s none of your business who I hire. Besides, for all you know, the man is kin to me.’’

‘‘Believe me, it would ease my mind a great deal if that were true.’’ He watched me closely, waiting for me to confirm it, his hand resting casually on his gun. I didn’t have the nerve to lie to him. He finally cleared his throat and said, ‘‘I’ve known Frank Wyatt all my life, and I can remember when your husband, Sam, stood only this high. It’s for their sakes that I’m stopping by. I’m very concerned for you and the kids, ma’am. And it is my job as county sheriff to protect law-abiding citizens from dangerous vagrants and con artists.’’

‘‘Thank you, but I can assure you that he’s neither one.’’

‘‘I’ll still need to talk to him, ma’am.’’ He reached inside his jacket and drew out an envelope. ‘‘This letter came from Chicago by registered mail for a Mr. Gabriel Harper, at this address. Bill White down at the post office asked me if I knew anything about it, and I said I’d deliver it to Mr. Harper myself since I’d planned on driving out anyway.’’

I don’t know why I felt so protective of Gabe, but I did. He had secrets in his past that he didn’t want me or anyone else to know about, but he couldn’t possibly be a dangerous fugitive or anything, could he? Gabe was so gentle and soft-spoken I honestly didn’t think he was capable of breaking the law. So why was I reluctant to hand Gabe over to him? Sheriff Foster might even recognize him as Matthew Wyatt—wasn’t that what I wanted? I felt very confused.

‘‘He’s working down at Aunt Betty’s house this morning,’’ I finally said. ‘‘I’ll be glad to go get him—’’ ‘‘Thanks, but I know how to get to Betty Fowler’s cottage.’’ He climbed back into his car and drove off.

I wanted to go down there and hear what the sheriff and Gabe had to say to each other, but I would have to rely on Aunt Batty’s report. I asked her about their meeting that afternoon as I mixed up a batch of bread dough. We seemed to be eating bread faster than I could bake it lately. Aunt Batty was in the kitchen with me, giving the pantry a good spring cleaning now that Queen Esther had finally rid it of mice.

‘‘That Dan Foster was being downright nosy,’’ she told me. She wrung out her cleaning rag as if it were the sheriff’s neck. ‘‘He questioned poor Gabe as if he were wanted for murder, asking where he’d lived previously and where he’d worked—he even had the gall to ask him for a list of references. Dan can be a real bully when he wants to be—which is a good thing, I suppose, when you’re dealing with criminals.’’

‘‘What did Gabe say?’’

‘‘He may be a quiet man, but he wouldn’t let Dan bully him. He said his name was Gabriel Harper, he lived in Chicago, and that any business he had with Wyatt Orchards was none of Dan’s. I cheered him on. I said, ‘Good for you, Gabe!’ and that got Dan all worked up. He said this happens to be a private conversation and he asked me to leave, and I said this happens to be my house, maybe he ought to leave! Things went downhill fast after that.’’

I smiled as I turned the dough out of the mixing bowl and began kneading it. ‘‘I’m sorry I missed it,’’ I said.

‘‘Oh, it was great fun! Dan was mouthing threats by the time he pulled out of there. He vowed to check up on Gabe, and he swore that if he found out Gabe was taking advantage of a defenseless widow there would be ‘you-know-what’ to pay.’’

Aunt Batty disappeared into the pantry again and I heard her banging things around in there. I was a little disappointed that I hadn’t learned anything new about Gabe, yet like Aunt Batty, I couldn’t help but cheer him on.

‘‘What about the letter the sheriff had for Gabe?’’ I asked, suddenly remembering it.

Aunt Batty stuck her fluffy head out of the pantry. She had a big grin spread across her face. ‘‘That was wonderful news! Gabe’s story is going to be serialized in the Chicago newspaper!’’

My hands froze on the dough. ‘‘So now he’ll probably leave us.’’

‘‘Oh, I don’t think so, Toots. Gabe has a stubborn streak a mile long. I saw that for myself today. The sheriff tried to run him off and that just made Gabe dig in his heels all the more. You told folks he’s your manager and by golly, from now on Gabe is going to manage Wyatt Orchards!’’

I covered my face with floury hands and wept with relief. I hadn’t realized how much I dreaded the thought of being on my own again. I had come to rely on Gabe more than I cared to admit. Aunt Batty laid down her cleaning rag and wrapped her arms tightly around me.

‘‘You poor little thing,’’ she soothed. ‘‘You’ve been carrying a mighty heavy burden, haven’t you? But you don’t have to worry anymore because God sent you a guardian angel to help you out for a little while.’’

I wiped my eyes and bent to rest my head on her shoulder. ‘‘I think He sent me two angels.’’

One cold, rainy morning I noticed one of our cows acting funny. My father-in-law had taken her to be bred last summer and I figured she must be about to calve. But unlike the other three cows who’d always known what to do when their time came, Myrtle was a first-time mother and I could see she was having trouble. Afraid to leave her for very long, I dashed back to the house through the rain to get help. Becky and Aunt Batty were in the kitchen getting a new batch of eggs ready to take into town to sell.

‘‘Is Gabe still working down at your house?’’ I asked her.

‘‘Yes, he’s working on the inside today on account of the rain.’’

‘‘Becky, I need you to run and get him,’’ I said. ‘‘Put on Luke’s old galoshes and take my umbrella. Tell him Myrtle’s having trouble calving and I could use his help.’’

‘‘Don’t bother sending her for Gabe,’’ Aunt Batty said, reaching out to hold Becky back. ‘‘He won’t be any help. He hardly knows which end of the cow to point toward the feeding trough. I like Gabe a lot, but...’’ she lowered her voice to a whisper, ‘‘he doesn’t know what he’s doing.’’

‘‘What do you mean? He does all kinds of things for me around the farm.’’

‘‘Mind you, he’s getting better at it every day,’’ she said, wiping off another egg. ‘‘But when Gabe first started helping out with the chores, Jimmy could milk two cows in the time it took Gabe to milk one—and that was only after he got over his fear of being kicked.’’

I still wanted to believe Gabe was Matthew Wyatt. If so, he would have left home some time ago and might have forgotten a lot of things by now. ‘‘Maybe he’s just out of practice,’’ I said. ‘‘He lived in the city for a long time, you know.’’

‘‘I would bet he’s lived in the city all his life! That young man never grew up on any farm!’’ She dropped her voice to a whisper again and added, ‘‘He comes to me for advice.’’

‘‘Advice about what?’’

‘‘Everything!’’ she said with a shrug. ‘‘When to start the hot bed, how to get the chickens to set, when to plow the garden, how the manure spreader works...The horses spooked him pretty badly at first. I suppose because they’re so big. He said he’d never owned a horse in Chicago—just cars. I told him you have to let a horse know who’s boss, and he laughed and said they already know they are! He’s much better with them now and hardly ever gets their harnesses on backward anymore. But yesterday morning I told him that the raspberry canes Frank started last fall were ready to be clipped and he had no idea what I was talking about.’’

‘‘Neither do I and I’ve lived here ten years. How long has Frank raised raspberries?’’

‘‘As far back as I can remember,’’ she said, examining another egg. ‘‘Lydia knew how much I loved raspberries so she always let me pick my fill every year. I had to buy them after she died. They weren’t nearly as good, you know. You have to eat raspberries the same day you pick them or all they’ll be good for is jam and—’’

‘‘Listen, what should I do about the cow?’’ I hated interrupting her, but Aunt Batty’s thoughts could take more twists and turns than a circus’ rubber lady. Do you know anything about birthing calves?’’