Brides of Iowa (5 page)

Tessa didn’t look up as she scrubbed a greasy pot. Arguing wouldn’t convince Flossie. She’d need to pray for an opportunity to prove herself to the woman.

Pray? She supposed she should pray, but it was hard enough just reading Mama’s Bible. If she asked for help, would God listen?

T
essa hung her apron on the peg and glanced once more across the spotless kitchen. Her raw hands stung, and her feet ached, but she had a job. Her body begged for rest, but she needed to go back to the elm tree and gather her belongings before she found Mr. Kilgore’s shed.

She tried not to think about the fact she’d be living in a shed. Even without having laid eyes on the place, she presumed it wouldn’t be more than a shack—probably unlivable when the cold weather arrived, if Iowa winters were as cold as Indiana winters. If she was frugal with her earnings for four or five months, surely she’d be able to save enough to afford a small room at Mrs. Dunnigan’s place, at least for the winter.

She stepped out the side door into the alley. Lengthening shadows lined her way as she hurried down the street. The heightening noise from the saloons carried on the evening air, piquing her uneasiness. Drunken men always meant trouble.

As she passed Maxwell’s Mercantile, the door opened and Gideon exited. When he looked up, recognition lit his eyes. “Tessa, good evening. I hope you had some luck finding a job.” The same apologetic tone he’d used earlier colored his voice.

“I did, thank you. I’m working at the hotel.”

Even in the deepening shadows, she saw him scowl. “You’re working for Kilgore?”

“Yes.” No sense humiliating herself by telling him of Kilgore’s first offer. “I’m working in the kitchen and dining room. If you’ll excuse me, I’m very tired, and I still have to move my things.”

“Your things?”

“Yes. Mr. Kilgore was kind enough to give me a place to stay behind the hotel. I need to move my belongings there.”

When she started around him, Gideon stopped her. “Please, allow me to help. I can’t stand by and let a lady carry her own luggage, especially after she’s worked hard all day.”

Tessa’s jaw dropped. A lady? Papa would hoot with laughter to hear her referred to as a lady. She couldn’t fault Gideon for his mistake. He was merely being polite, and in her weariness she couldn’t turn down his offer. “All right. I would appreciate the help.”

She led the way past the livery to the elm tree. In the gathering twilight, she glanced at Gideon, and a butterfly hiccuped in her stomach. Her nerves stood at attention. He’d already demonstrated kindness, but trust wasn’t given away easily. Vulnerability invited contempt. She drew in a tentative breath. “My things are over there.” She pointed toward the underbrush.

Gideon stared at her. “You mean to tell me you’ve been staying outside? I thought you were at Mrs. Dunnigan’s.”

She shrugged and continued toward the elm. “I was for one night, but I couldn’t stay there indefinitely. I have no money.”

“And you wouldn’t take charity, is that it?”

She didn’t look at him but sensed he wore the same sympathetic expression he’d worn earlier.

“You know, Tessa, there’s nothing wrong with accepting help from a friend.”

She wasn’t sure what that word meant. She had no friends. Everything she loved was buried in the cemetery.

“Tessa?” His voice coaxed her gaze in his direction. “I thought we were friends. Friends help each other. But you can only have a friend if you be a friend.”

She hardly knew what to say. He was offering something she’d never had. “Gideon, you don’t know anything about me.”

He walked back to the livery and picked up a lantern hanging on a post. The glow of the flame sent fingers of light dancing across his face as he returned to where she stood. “I know you loved your mother and your heart is broken. And I know you need a friend.” He shifted the lantern to the other hand. “I’d like the chance to get better acquainted with you. But for now, let’s get your things moved to your new place. I don’t think Cully will mind if we borrow his wheelbarrow.”

She was too tired to argue.

Gideon handed her the lantern and pushed the wheelbarrow from the side of the corral close to the elm. He hoisted the trunk first and balanced it over the hand grips. As he loaded the cabinet, he ran his hand over the carving on the front. “This is fine work.”

“My grandfather carved that cabinet for my grandmother when they were first married. Mama brought it with her when she and Papa left Kentucky to move to Indiana. It’s the only thing Mama had to remind her of her parents.”

Gideon traced the intricate detail with his finger and gave a low whistle. “Your grandfather was a fine craftsman.” When he turned the cabinet to steady it, the right side door wobbled. “It looks like this hinge is broken. I’d be happy to fix it for you.”

Tessa shook her head. “I don’t have the money.”

Gideon turned with an exasperated sigh and put his hands on his hips. “There you go again. Can’t you just let me fix it because I want to?”

Wariness prodded her. Nobody put themselves out without expecting something in return. She wondered if he expected favors she was unwilling to give. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

He picked up the lantern, and the light played across the space between them. His eyes studied her, but not the way the hotel clerk’s did. Even in the flickering light, she saw something different about Gideon, but she couldn’t distinguish what it was.

“The Bible says, ‘A man that hath friends must shew himself friendly.’ I just want to be your friend, Tessa. There aren’t any strings attached.” He handed her the lantern and picked up the handles of the wheelbarrow. “C’mon, let’s go find this place Kilgore was so generous to
give
you.”

When they reached the corner of the alley bordering the hotel, Tessa halted. “If you’ll please put my things right here, I can manage. Thank you for your help.”

Gideon frowned. “But—”

“Please.”

Gideon chafed at the memory of Tessa setting her jaw and insisting he leave her things at the corner. Her stubborn stance declared there was no use arguing the point. He’d done as she requested, deposited her belongings and left, but he’d fought with his pillow all night thinking about it.

The following morning as Gideon swept off the boardwalk, a friendly voice hailed him.

“Hey Gideon.”

Gideon looked up.

His friend, Ty Sawyer, set the brake on his wagon and hopped down. A thatch of blond hair stuck out in a dozen directions when he removed his sweat-stained hat, and his lopsided grin reminded Gideon of the trouble they used to get into together in their childhood days.

“Hey Ty. Haven’t seen you in town for nigh onto a month.”

They tromped into the store where Ty promptly helped himself to a handful of gumdrops from the jar on the counter. “Came in for supplies. A pound of coffee, cornmeal, couple pounds of bacon, beans, some white sewing thread, and some ten-penny nails.” He popped an orange gumdrop in his mouth and looked around. “Where is everybody?”

Gideon propped the broom in the corner. “Probably over at the Willow Creek Emporium.”

“Hmph, Kilgore’s place? It’s not likely I’ll ever do business with Kilgore again. That land deal soured my opinion of him.”

Gideon scooped a handful of nails and dumped them into a sack. “Is this enough?”

Ty glanced into the sack. “That’ll do. I had the down payment for that piece of bottomland I’d been looking at. You know the place where we used to hunt rabbits?” Without waiting for Gideon’s reply, Ty continued. “Mr. Sewell said the bank would carry a loan for five years.” Ty shook his head. “A week later he turned me down, and I found out it was Kilgore who denied the loan.”

“How could he do that? Mr. Sewell’s the bank president, not Kilgore.”

Ty chewed another gumdrop. “I heard Kilgore’s bought out fifty-one percent of the bank stock.”

Gideon scowled. “But why would he refuse you a loan?”

Ty snorted. “Never got a straight answer on that, but you know who owns that piece of bottomland now?”

Gideon raised his eyebrows. “Not Kilgore.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Why? He’s not a farmer.”

“No, he ain’t. Mr. Sewell told me the
new owner
might sell me the property, but the price suddenly tripled.”

Footsteps on the boardwalk drew Gideon’s attention. Kilgore stood in the open door, an arrogant smirk on his face. He puffed his stubby cigar and ambled inside.

Ty counted out his money and handed it to Gideon before picking up his purchases. “See you around, Gideon.” He headed toward the door.

“Thanks, Ty.”

The young man sent a stiff nod in Kilgore’s direction. “Mr. Kilgore.”

Kilgore stuck his thumbs in his suspenders and replied with a condescending snort. “Sawyer.” Kilgore sauntered to the counter. “Say, Maxwell, you should come to the hotel and see the pretty little tart I just hired to wait tables. She’s sassy and holier-than-thou, but I’ll tame her in short order.”

The disrespectful reference to Tessa set Gideon’s teeth on edge. “That’s no way to talk about a lady, Kilgore.”

Kilgore sneered and blew a puff of smoke in Gideon’s direction. He turned and cast a wide glance around the store. “When you get ready to unload this dump, you know where to find me.” He exited and strolled down the boardwalk.

Self-accusation burned in Gideon’s chest. If only he could have hired Tessa himself. The prospect of Kilgore paying Tessa an honest wage for an honest day’s work filled him with misgivings.

Tessa’s feet throbbed as she bumped open the kitchen door with her hip. Her stomach growled at the aroma of the beef stew, pork chops, steak, and fresh biscuits on her tray. She forced a smile as she placed steaming platters before three men at a corner table.

“You’re new here, ain’t ya?”

Tessa set a basket of warm biscuits on their table and started toward the next table where a party waited to order, but the man in the plaid shirt and leather vest grabbed her hand.

“Hey now, don’t be in such a hurry.” The dark-haired cowboy waggled his thick eyebrows. “Why don’t you stick around, and maybe me and you can get better acquainted.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart accelerated as she twisted her arm trying to extract her hand.

He tightened his grip.

Her stomach constricted, and nausea rose to her throat. “Please excuse me. I have other customers.”

The man’s laughter drove chills down her spine, and he reeked of whiskey. “We was gonna order dessert. Maybe you can”—he cast a surreptitious glance over his shoulder and leaned toward her—“offer some suggestions.”

She yanked her arm free and took a step backward. “Our dessert menu for today is”—her voice trembled—“apple pie, chocolate cake, or raisin pudding.”

“Tessa!” Mr. Kilgore’s voice boomed across the dining room, and every patron in the place turned in his direction.

Tessa scurried over to her boss. “Yes sir?”

“I’m not paying you to stand around and chat. If you can’t attend to your duties, I don’t need you.”

Tessa felt every eye in the dining room on her as she stood under the lash of Kilgore’s upbraiding. Her face burned, and she couldn’t gulp enough air to satisfy her lungs.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Kilgore. I tried to—”

“If your trying isn’t good enough, I’ll find someone else. Now get back to work, and don’t let me catch you lollygagging again.”

Her tongue seemed stuck to the roof of her mouth. She’d listened to Papa’s tirades for as long as she could remember and survived them. Subjecting herself to Mr. Kilgore’s abuse wasn’t any different except that Mr. Kilgore was paying her. She needed this job.

She took orders from two other tables and scurried to the kitchen to find Flossie at the sink pumping water over her hand and groaning. “Flossie, what’s wrong?”

The cook growled under her breath and continued to pump water.

Tillie spoke up as she filled the orders Tessa left on the serving counter. “She spilled hot grease over her hand. I told her to pour cold water over it.”

Tessa peered over Flossie’s shoulder. Angry blisters already formed on the inflamed skin. Tessa grimaced, imagining the pain.