Roses for Mama (15 page)
“The boss named Gus an’ me in the will,” he said, and his voice broke.
Both Angela and Thomas looked up. The little man was fighting to control his emotions. He nodded and blinked hard, not wanting to allow tears.
“He left Gus three thousand dollars.”
Angela caught her breath. It was impossible to imagine that much money.
“What does Gus plan to do?” she asked when she could speak again.
“He don’t know. It caught him off guard. He says he ain’t got no call fer the money. But I ’spect he’ll find some way to spend it.”
Charlie managed a smile.
“And you—?” prompted Thomas.
“He left me the parcel of land on the crick an’ the little cabin thet sits on it.”
“Oh, Charlie!” squealed Angela, and she threw her arms around his neck. “That’s—wonderful. You’ll have a place of your very own. You can just—just sit and rock—or fish or just do nothing.”
Charlie was grinning. “I always had a feelin’ fer thet little cabin,” he admitted when Angela stopped squeezing and stepped back. “I guess the boss knew how I felt.”
Then Charlie went on. “He left me a thousand dollars, too. Now I don’t need to worry none about a grub-stake.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful! Just wonderful!” Angela exclaimed again.
Thomas reached over to pat the old man on the back.
“Well, I dunno,” said Charlie hesitantly. “The new boss don’t think it’s so great.”
“What do you mean?” asked Angela, a frown creasing her brow.
“Oh, he don’t care none about the money. Got enough left anyway, I guess. His pa did leave him the rest of what he owned. But he don’t cotton none to losing thet crick bottom. Says it’s the best cattle piece he’s got.”
Angela’s eyes shadowed with emotion. She felt bad for Carter. It didn’t seem quite fair that a son should lose his property to an employee. But surely with all of the land he had now, he wouldn’t need the bit that had been left to Charlie.
“Doesn’t he have access to water on the rest of his land?” asked Thomas.
“Oh, shore. Shore,” said Charlie. “Lotsa water. But I guess he took a fancy to thet piece, too.”
Thomas shook his head slowly. “Well, it’s too bad,” he acknowledged, “but I guess a will is a will.”
Charlie shook his head slowly. “Not really,” he told them. “Shore it says in the will thet it’s mine—but thet don’t always hold, I guess.”
“You mean—?”
“I mean the lawyer fella says thet even a proper will can be contested.”
“Contested?”
“Yeah—taken to court to see if it is legally bindin’—or can be overturned.”
“Who could do that?” asked Angela, shocked.
“The fella who thinks he has right to it,” responded Charlie.
“Carter?” asked Thomas.
“Not Carter,” objected Angela quickly.
But Charlie was nodding his head. “Told me straight out that he plans to go to court and get his property back,” said Charlie. The mere mention of a court battle made him look tired and old.
“But you said—” began Angela.
“Shore. The will says it’s mine. Carter says it’s his.” Charlie’s eyes were coming to life. Angela saw the snap in them. The old man raised his head and his stubborn chin lifted slightly.
“So what do you plan to do?” asked Thomas.
“Fight it!” snapped Charlie. “I’m not gonna jest hand it on over to ’im. The boss gave it to me. I’m gonna fight it.”
Angela felt a sickness begin to creep through her body. She had to sit down in the nearest chair.
Oh, dear God
, she prayed silently.
And we—I—will be caught right in the middle
.
Angela longed to discuss the situation with Carter the next evening, but she didn’t feel the freedom to bring up such a sensitive subject. They talked of other things. Little things. Funny things. Things from their different backgrounds. Carter did not even mention the will, and Angela was sure he was unaware they had any knowledge of its contents.
Thane would say just what he was thinking and feeling
, Angela thought, and then checked herself.
What does Thane have to do with this? Why did I make that comparison?
Angela quickly returned her thoughts to what Carter was saying. He was full of plans for the ranch, the house, and somehow Angela knew he expected her to be excited, to share his dreams.
“It sounds wonderful,” she put in when Carter stopped for a breath.
“It will be,” he said with confidence. “I am going back to Atlanta to do my shopping. I know the stores there and can get just what I want.”
“How will you ever carry it all back out here?” asked Angela innocently.
“I’ll ship it by rail. Shouldn’t take too long. I figure by next spring—or summer at the latest—the house should have a whole new look.”
“I think it’s charming as it is,” said Angela.
“Wait until you see what I’m going to do—you’ll love it.”
Angela had a strange thought—and the courage to voice it. “Does it really matter if I love it?”
Carter looked surprised. He opened his mouth to comment, but Angela quickly continued.
“I’m sure that your good taste will show throughout your lovely house,” she smiled, “but what if I—what if I don’t have the good sense to like the same things you do?”
For a moment he appeared surprised, but then he looked at her as if she must be teasing. He smiled, though his eyes did not lighten, and he spoke in bantering fashion, “Well, then—I guess we just throw it all out and start over,” he said with a laugh, but Angela wasn’t convinced.
When he left he promised that he would see her on Friday night, and Angela moved to the kitchen to wash the dishes.
She was still troubled as she prepared for bed and tucked herself in under the snug quilt made by her mother’s hands.
“Oh, God,” she prayed earnestly, “I wish I had my mama now. I need her so. I just know if she were here she’d be able to help me sort this all out.”
Angela finally fell into a restless sleep.
Carter did not come on Friday night. He stopped by on Wednesday to inform Angela that he would be out of town for several days. He promised to come over the minute he returned, then surprised her by pulling her gently forward and kissing her on the forehead.
Angela felt sure the trip had something to do with his father’s will. In the afternoon she bundled up against the cold wind and headed across the field to the big house. She didn’t have baking to take along, but Gus was back in his own kitchen so he no longer needed her cooking.
She was welcomed by both Gus and Charlie. Angela was not surprised by this until Gus inadvertently mentioned that he missed Charlie since he no longer lived at the ranch house.
“You don’t live here?” exclaimed Angela. “Where do you live?”
“I moved into my little shack,” said Charlie with satisfaction.
“Is it warm enough?” Angela asked, thinking of the cold winter winds and the driving snow.
“Sure is,” said Charlie proudly. “It’s as snug as a nest in there—and lots of good wood piled up at the back, too.”
Angela was relieved. “So how come you’re here?” she asked.
“Oh, I still sneak over for a cup of coffee now and then when I know Gus will be alone.”
“You knew?”
“We have us a little signal system worked out,” he said with a grin, and Gus winked at Angela.
Angela did not ask them to reveal their secret.
“We sure do. We sure do,” Gus chuckled.
“Then you know that Carter has gone to the city—and why?”
Charlie nodded. “He’s settin’ the wheels in motion for the trial over the will. Wants him the best lawyer he can find for the case.”
Angela nodded slowly. She had feared that was the reason. “And you?” she asked Charlie.
“Figured I’d be my own defense,” Charlie told her. “Me and thet there piece of paper thet says the land is mine.”
“But—?” began Angela.
“’Course I got me a piece of advice from ol’ Ed Stern. He said thet possession is nine-tenths of the law, or somethin’ like thet. Advised me to move right in without hesitation.”
Angela nodded. The pieces were falling together.
“And, I was anxious to move anyway. Nothin’ fer me to do here but hassle Gus.”
The twinkle had returned to Charlie’s eyes.
“How will you get supplies?” asked Angela.
“Neighbors been right good about it.”
Angela knew that the Conroys and Blackwells lived in the direction of Charlie’s shack. Before she could make further comment, Charlie went on.
“Ol’ man Blackwell is a rather decent sort. An’ him tied to thet woman fer all these years. Don’t know how the man has stood it. Sneaks over every now and then fer a bit of chin-wag or a cup of strong coffee. He popped in on the way to town an’ says he will do thet whenever he’s goin’ by.”
Angela smiled. It was good that the two men had each other. “Do you have any idea when—when this trial might come up?” asked Angela. She felt far more free to talk to Gus and Charlie than she did to Carter, but she did not stop to analyze the reason.
“Carter would like it all done up before Christmas,” said Charlie, “but Ed Stern says those things can sometimes take a good while.”
Angela nodded. It really wasn’t long until Christmas.
“Well, I’d better be getting home,” she said, pushing back her cup and getting to her feet. “Thank you, Gus, for the coffee.”
“You’re welcome,” said Gus. “Anytime. Anytime.”
“Come over when you can,” Angela invited, her words directed to both men but her eyes resting on Charlie.
“Well, now, I reckon I would need to know the time fer thet,” said Charlie, who had always just dropped over in the past. “I hear me through the locals’ report thet you sometimes have a caller.”
Angela reddened. “But that doesn’t mean—” she began.
“’Course not,” said Charlie. “Jest a bit uncomfortable, if you know what I mean.”
“You can come any Saturday night or Sunday afternoon,” Angela informed him and then promised herself she would be sure not to invite Carter on those days.
———
The hearing was set for January 15. Carter did not speak of it to Angela. She heard it from Charlie. She admitted to herself that she was a bit hurt that Carter had not discussed it with her. But perhaps he wanted to spare her feelings, knowing how she cared for Charlie.
Angela decided to push the whole matter aside and concentrate on preparations for Christmas.
Angela went to town to do some shopping. She hadn’t seen the Andrewses, except at church, for what seemed ages. She decided to leave a little visiting time in her schedule.
Mrs. Andrews greeted her warmly, as always, and ushered her into their living quarters behind the store.
“How are things going, dear?” the woman asked as she pushed the teakettle forward over the heat of the firebox.
“Fine—I guess,” said Angela as she removed her heavy coat and placed it on the back of a chair.
“We hear you have been entertaining Mr. Stratton,” Mrs. Andrews said openly.
“Yes,” admitted Angela. “He calls.” She felt she should be making her announcement with a gleam in her eyes and excitement in her voice. She was aware that there was neither.
“Ma Andrews,” Angela began, calling the woman by the name she had used for many years, “have you heard about the trial?”
“I guess everyone around has heard of the trial,” the woman answered.
“Well, do you think—do you suppose there is any danger of Charlie losing his land and cabin?”
“I really couldn’t say, dear. I have no knowledge of legal things, but most folks are saying that Charlie has a fairly good case.”
Angela wasn’t sure that was good enough, but she held her tongue. It would be such a shame if Charlie were to lose his small cabin.
Mrs. Andrews asked, “What does Carter say—?”
“We haven’t talked about it,” Angela answered quickly.
“I see,” said Mrs. Andrews as she poured the tea.
The conversation turned to Christmas. “I’ve been hoping you would get to town,” Mrs. Andrews said. “I wanted to check to be sure you and the family are planning to have Christmas dinner with us.”
“Oh yes,” responded Angela before she even had time to think. The Peterson family had shared Christmas dinner with the Andrews family ever since their mother had passed away.
Then Angela thought of Carter. Was he expecting an invitation to the Petersons’? Well, she would just explain to him the long-standing tradition. She couldn’t very well invite him to accompany them. Could she? She glanced up at the kind woman who was pouring the tea and was about to blurt out her request when she thought better of it. Carter hardly knew the Andrewses, whereas she had thought of them as family for a number of years. Certainly Carter would not feel comfortable in such circumstances.
They talked further of Christmas and of the church Christmas pageant and the costumes Angela needed to prepare for Louise and Sara. Derek had announced quite forthrightly that he was too big to take part in the Christmas drama now. Angela had not argued. She was pleased to have Derek showing a mind of his own.
“Will Louise be wearing her hair up this year?” Mrs. Andrews asked. “Agnes has talked of nothing else for the past several months. Especially since she saw Louise at Hazel’s wedding.”
Angela looked at the older woman. “What do you think Mama would do?” she asked. “I don’t want to be fighting Louise all the time, but she is constantly pressing me to let her do this and let her do that. I really don’t know the proper time for these—these various things of—of youth.”
Mrs. Andrews smiled. “Do you remember when you went through it?” she asked.
Angela shook her head slowly.
“Well, I do. Your mama handled you so wisely. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘you may have your hair up just as soon as you take over the chore of baking bread. A lady should never make bread with her hair hanging loose about her face.’”
Angela did remember then. She had been only eleven when she had begun to pester her mama about putting up her hair. She flushed slightly.
“I remember. I was even younger than Louise,” she admitted.
“Yes, but you put it off for another two years after your mama’s little talk.”
