Mud Creek (2 page)

“No.”

“Perhaps you haven’t given it enough thought.”

“I haven’t given it
any
thought, because it’s not an option that appeals to me in the slightest.”

“The three of us—Pa and Arthur and me—are going to select plots of land that are adjoining, so if you’re worried about the isolation, don’t be. Ma would be close by, so you’d have female company.”

Helen could think of nothing more grating than to have trembling, meek Florence as her only neighbor.

“I’m not worried about the isolation, Albert. You’re not listening to me. I’m glad for you and your family. I’m glad that you’re pursuing this dream for yourselves, but I am not interested in marrying or moving west.”

He kept on as if she hadn’t spoken. “We’re pooling our resources so we can ranch as a team. We’ll do really well that way financially. The first year, I should be able to build my own house.”

“That’s marvelous, Albert. I’m happy for you.”

“I’m aware that it’s last minute, and I should have asked sooner.”

“It wouldn’t have made any difference.”

“If you don’t care to travel with me on Monday—Ma says you probably couldn’t be ready by then—we could wed before I leave. You could come next summer after the house is finished.”

He was so excited, like a boy in a candy shop. Maybe he would succeed at ranching in the wilderness. Maybe her parents would end up being wrong. Maybe Walt, Albert, and Arthur would grow fat and prosperous in the Dakotas.

But Helen didn’t imagine that’s how it would happen. Her parents had seen too many people return from the west, broke, busted, beaten down. She craved no part of a marriage to Albert or exile to the middle of nowhere. He didn’t have a clue what they were facing, and she wasn’t willing to place herself in a predicament where so much of the outcome was unknown.

“I’m sorry, Albert,” she said. “I just can’t.”

“I understand.” He nodded, studying her.

An awkward silence ensued, then suddenly, he slid from the sofa and fell to one knee. He clasped her hand tightly enough that she couldn’t pull it free.

“I have to risk all, Helen,” he declared. “I won’t have another chance.”

“What are you talking about? Get up, get up. You’re embarrassing me.”

“I love you,” he claimed.

“No, no. You can’t possibly mean that.”

“I do, Helen.” He drew her closer. “You’re everything I want in a wife. You’re beautiful and kind and smart and loyal.”

“Loyal?” She seized on the word, deeming it an odd choice to describe her character.

“Yes, loyal. Don’t sell yourself short. You support Violet, no matter how outrageously she acts. You never judge her; you never criticize. You’re her champion.”

“She’s my sister,” Helen tersely responded. “Why wouldn’t I stand by her?”

“Your devotion only proves how right I am in asking you to come with me.”

“I don’t know what to say, Albert. You’re not listening to me.”

“Say
yes.
Say you’ll have me; say you’ll wed me. Make me the happiest man alive.”

He paused, on tenterhooks, and in his fervor, he looked a bit crazed.

She yanked away and stood. He rose, too, but grudgingly.

“I could never want anyone but you,” he ardently decreed.

“That’s enough. Please stop.”

“I’ll wait for you,” he absurdly insisted.

She winced. “Don’t think that way for a minute.”

“No, I’ll wait. I’m very patient.”

“You shouldn’t be. Not about this. You should find someone else. You should ask someone else.”

“No, no, it has to be you.”

She tamped down a groan, deciding she would throttle her mother after he left. He had taken her hand again, and she was using it as leverage to propel him toward the door.

“You should go,” she told him, but he persisted with his entreaty.

“At the moment,” he said, “you’re opposed to my idea, but you never know what might happen. Six months from now, a year from now, you might change your mind.”

“I won’t ever change my mind, Albert.”

“Have faith in me, Helen.”

“I have faith in you. I just can’t do as you’re suggesting.”

“I’ll write,” he vowed.

“I hope you will.”

“I’ll keep you apprised, so you can track the preparations I’m making for your arrival.”

“Don’t make them for me. It will be a wasted effort.”

“No, it won’t be. I’m so sure about this. We’re meant to be together.”

She reached for the doorknob and jerked the door open. Her mother was lurking in the hall, pretending she hadn’t been eavesdropping.

“Albert,” Mildred said, “are you leaving so soon?”

“Yes, Mrs. Pendleton, but I’ll stop by in the morning.”

“Wonderful. We always look forward to seeing you—especially with so few days remaining before your departure. Give my regards to Florence, won’t you?”

Helen flashed a glare, indicating that her mother should be silent. Mildred ignored her and escorted Albert out onto the front porch.

“Until tomorrow, Helen.” He appeared forlorn and lovesick.

“Goodbye.”

Her mother urged him on his way, and when she turned to Helen again, she immediately went on the offensive.

“What is wrong with you?” Mildred demanded, sweeping by Helen and into the parlor. “He offered you the opportunity of a lifetime! You didn’t even consider it.”

“Mother, you knew what he was going to say, didn’t you?”

“Well, of course, I did. He and Walt talked to your father last night.”

“You agreed that he could propose?”

“Why wouldn’t we? We’ve been acquainted with them all our lives. We’ve often suspected that the two of you might—“

“Might what? Marry? Me and Albert?”

“Yes.”

“Are you insane?” Helen fumed. “Don’t you know anything about me?”

“I know enough to realize that you can’t be left to arrange your own future.”

“Albert and I are completely incompatible.”

“No, you’re not. He’s absolutely what you need. He’s steady and reliable, and he would temper all your worst traits.”

“My worst
traits
? Which ones would those be?”

“You’re a dreamer, Helen. You’re all pie-in-the-sky with how things ought to be rather than how things actually are. It’s a dangerous way to carry on.”

“Is it dangerous that I want to be a teacher? Is it dangerous to want more for myself than what you had?”

Mildred scoffed. “Oh, I see how you thumb your nose at me for my pathetic choice of marrying your father. You’ll eventually learn that there’s no greater blessing for a woman than her husband and children.”

“When I wed, it will be for love.”

“Love fades quickly, Helen. Stability endures. Stability you can count on.”

“I don’t want stability. I want happiness.”

“Then I’m positive your teaching certificate will bring you much cold comfort in your old age.”

“And marriage to Albert would be better? How could you put me in such a horrid predicament?”

“Horrid! We merely allowed a proposal from a very appropriate young man. What was so horrid about it?”

“I was mortified, Mother. I had to sit there and listen while he droned on and on.”

“That is the most ridiculous comment you’ve ever uttered, and I refuse to argue with you. Go to your room. You may discuss the issue with your father when he arrives home this evening. I’m sure he’ll be delighted to deal with you when you’re throwing such a childish tantrum.”

Helen clenched her teeth, biting down on all the derogatory remarks trying to spill out.

She and her mother never used to quarrel, but in the past year, Helen had begun to see the world differently. She would be relieved when her college classes started in the fall so she would have an excuse to be absent from the house for hours on end.

She spun and huffed out, climbing the stairs to her room where she found Violet lounged on her bed.

“I heard everything,” Violet hissed as Helen entered and slammed the door.

“How?”

“Albert was over by the window in the parlor. His voice drifted up.”

“I’m so furious—with Mother and with him.”

“You won’t wed him, will you, Helen? If you do, I’ll have to kill you to save you.”

“No, I won’t marry him, Violet. Not ever, ever, ever. No matter what.”

Three years later…

“What are you saying?”

“There’s nothing left, Miss Pendleton.”

“Nothing?”

“No.”

Helen gazed at her father’s attorney, Mr. Wainwright. They were in his office, with him seated at his stained, scruffy desk, and her in the stiff-backed chair across.

She had never previously met him and couldn’t figure out how her father, Charles, had come to be his client. Charles had always done business with men he’d known all his life, with men he’d trusted.

Wainwright’s office was in a seedy neighborhood, and when she’d first entered the building, she’d been disturbed by its dilapidated condition. But apparently, he was the only attorney her father could afford. He was dressed in a faded suit, the elbows of his jacket patched, the cuffs worn.

To hear him tell it, Charles had burned his bridges, borrowing money he couldn’t repay. Wainwright’s tale of bankruptcy and fraud was so divergent from the responsible, thrifty person she’d recognized her father to be that she couldn’t believe the shocking story.

For weeks, Wainwright had been trying to schedule an appointment, but she’d had a premonition of further calamity, so she’d evaded his attempts.

Two month earlier, her father had died suddenly. It had been a particularly brutal winter, with heavy snow continuing far into the spring. He’d been shoveling the front walk when he’d clutched at his chest and keeled over.

His untimely passing, coming on the heels of her mother’s lengthy demise, was simply too much for Helen to bear. Coupled with her worry over Violet, Helen was at her wit’s end as to how she should proceed.

She peered out the window behind Mr. Wainwright. Winter had fled in an instant, and spring had swiftly arrived. The lilacs were in bloom, the snow having lingered just long enough to kill her father.

“Charles made some risky investments,” Mr. Wainwright was explaining, “but they didn’t pan out, so he couldn’t square his mortgages.”

“I don’t understand any of this,” Helen complained. “I thought the store was prosperous. My father never breathed a word to my mother about any financial problems.”

“Well, he wouldn’t have, would he? Even if she’d been healthy? And with how quickly she deteriorated, he wouldn’t have wanted her to fret.”

“No, you’re right. He wouldn’t have.”

“There’s more, Miss Pendleton.” He looked especially glum. “It grieves me to inform you.”

“Just say it.”

“Your house has been sold and most of the furniture with it.”

“What?”

“You’ll be allowed to retain some of your personal possessions, but nothing more.”

“Who is the new owner? Would he let us remain on the property?”

“No.” He glanced down as if embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

“We have to move? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“By the fifteenth of next month. That’s why I’ve been trying to contact you, so you could make plans.”

“Plans! What are my sister and I to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“We have no kin to take us in. We have nowhere to go.” And with Violet’s shameful mess, no neighbors who would assist them.

“I realize that fact.”

“I went by the bank yesterday,” Helen said, “but they claimed my father’s accounts had been closed. Our maid needs her wages.”

Wainwright frowned as if she was a foolish child, and his scorn certainly had her feeling like one.

“There’s
no
money, Miss Pendleton. I keep repeating myself, but I don’t seem to be getting through. How can I be more clear?”

“We had a house,” Helen protested, “and a business my father owned since he was a young man. How can there be no money? I don’t mean to be dense, but I truly cannot grasp how this happened.”

“Your father invested in stocks, then the market crashed. He had expanded his company, which required several mortgages, but with the downturn, he couldn’t pay off his debts.” He paused and smiled a fake smile. “This situation probably sounds unusual to you, but it’s actually very common.”

“Yes, I’m sure it is.” Crushed with dismay, she studied the rug. More to herself than to him, she mumbled, “I was finally going back to college in the fall.”

“It won’t be possible now,” he softly commiserated.

“No, I don’t imagine it will be.”

She’d attended a year of teacher’s college, and it had been as interesting and fulfilling as she’d predicted it would be. Yet life had a way of dashing even the most optimistic of dreams.

Just as her second year was about to begin, her mother had caught a summer cold that never let up. By Christmas, her health had worsened to the point where she couldn’t get out of bed in the morning. Helen had been needed at home, and though her father hadn’t asked her to stay, she had.

The doctors had fussed over Mildred, ultimately asserting that she was suffering from a cancerous tumor in her abdomen, but Helen still couldn’t decide if that had been the cause of Mildred’s weakened condition.

So many of the doctors they’d hired had seemed like quacks.

Her mother’s passing had taken forever, with Helen assuming more and more responsibility for managing the household and reining in Violet who had grown increasingly incorrigible.

But lately, things had been improving. Their mourning period had concluded, their distress had waned. Violet had calmed, and their father was less harried. Helen had written to the college; she’d been invited back for the fall semester.

Then her father had dropped dead.

Her twentieth birthday was approaching, but she didn’t feel twenty. She felt a
hundred
and twenty, as if she’d lived ten lifetimes in the past three years.

She often recalled that afternoon in the parlor, when Albert had proposed, and she’d fought with her mother. She’d been so smug, so juvenilely certain she could bend the world to her own liking.

Her mother had tried to warn her that—for a woman—security mattered above all, but Helen had refused to listen. She’d wanted to be
happy.
She’d wanted to be free and independent and able to act however she chose.