A Thousand Little Blessings (11 page)

“How long has Rosa been living here?”

“About fifteen years. Why do you ask?”

“Has she ever been married?”

“She's a widow, and I'm not volunteering any more information, Mr. Simpson. You should be asking Rosa these questions instead of me.”

Charlie grinned again. “I've been to mass with her family several times, and they seem like a nice bunch of folks, but they won't tell me a thing. Their mouths are closed tighter than a jelly jar.”

“Maybe they're protecting Rosa.”

“I understand that. Really, I do. But how's a man supposed to court a woman when nobody'll lend a helping hand?”

Etta narrowed her eyes. Rosa was much more than a housekeeper, and Etta wasn't about to let Charlie Simpson hurt someone as dear as Rosa. “Does Rosa know your intentions?”

“I imagine she's got the idea by now,” Charlie replied. “I haven't been exactly secretive about my interest in her. I'm going to talk to her older brother next Sunday after mass. That'd be the right thing to do, don't you think?”

Etta held up her palm as if to ward off the question. “Don't ask me, Mr. Simpson. What I know about courtship and marriage could fit inside the eye of a needle.”

“That's because you're still young, Miss Davis. Your turn'll come. You'll see.”

Etta didn't respond. What could she, a twenty-five-year-old woman who'd never had a serious beau, possibly say in reply?

Charlie carried his dishes to the sink. “Well, that does it for me. I'll take one last look at your papa before I turn in, and then I'm off to dreamland. Goodnight, Miss Davis.”

“Goodnight.” Etta listened to Charlie's footsteps on the back stairs as she thought about all the changes that had come into her life. Her mother was gone, her father was fighting for his health, and now Rosa might leave, as well. Good thing she'd been praying so much lately, but now she'd have to add another concern to her list.

 

****

 

It was past midnight, but Gabriel couldn't sleep. He'd left his hostile bed, pulled on his boots, and headed toward the hill that overlooked the Davis property.

Etta would be safely tucked into bed by now.

Gabriel would never again take untroubled sleep for granted. Before the French battlefield, he'd slept like a hibernating bear. His mother had resorted to banging a metal spoon against a skillet as an alarm clock, and Captain Brooks had once thrown water on Gabriel to rouse him. But peaceful dreams and easy sleep were things of the past. No matter how hard Gabriel worked during the day, he couldn't close his eyes and ease into sleep. Memories crept into his mind like termites into rotten wood.

The look in his men's eyes when they realized he'd led them into danger, their courage despite their narrowing chances of escape, their mangled and bloodied bodies. Would time really erase those images from his mind? Would their voices ever stop whispering to him in the dark?

Gabriel climbed to the top of the hill and looked at the Davis's house. One light shone from an upstairs room that overlooked the courtyard. Was that Etta's room? Did worry keep her awake or was she ill?

If he could, he'd bundle all her concerns and throw them into the sky. Her worries would scatter into stardust and disappear into God's immense cosmos. If he could, he'd gather her into his arms and kiss her forehead, easing her troubles until laughter lit her lovely face and smiles banished all her cares.

The light blinked out, leaving Etta's house illuminated by pale moonlight. “Watch over her, Lord,” Gabriel whispered. “Send Your angels to protect her and keep her in the palm of Your hand.”

Gabriel lay on the slope of the grassy hill and stared at the darkened window. Maybe he could fall asleep now. He'd think about Etta, her goodness and her loveliness, and chase away the insidious memories that plagued him so.

 

****

 

A few days later, Etta led the auditor into her father's office. “I thought this would be the best place for you to work, Mr. Owens. You'll have access to everything you need, plus you'll have privacy. My desk is right outside.”

George Owens laid his briefcase on the desk and looked out the window. “I've always liked it here in Burnet. Such a nice little town, far enough from the hustle of the state capital but close enough to go there when needed.” He sat on the corner of the desk and smiled at Etta. “It's nice to see you again, Henrietta.”

She'd seen George Owens occasionally over the years at one social gathering or the other. He was only in his early thirties, but a bald spot already shone through the thin hair covering the crown of his head. “Do you need me to make arrangements for you to stay in Burnet, or will you be driving back to Austin every day?”

“I recently bought a brand new car, so driving back and forth is pure pleasure. Maybe you'd like to go for a drive one day.”

Etta wouldn't call her acquaintance with George anything more than casual. A few receptions and chit-chat over coffee certainly didn't equate to an intimate connection. But alienating him before he started his work wouldn't get results. “Maybe when you've finished your investigation.” She made sure her words were accompanied by a pleasant smile. “I don't want to be seen to have influenced your findings in any way.”

“I don't think that would be a problem. You did the right thing by calling me. If anyone from the State Department of Banking gets wind of this before I've found the problem, your worries will double.”

“We're a family-owned bank, Mr. Owens. The State Department doesn't have a lot of say in the dealings of privately held banks.”

“That's true for now, but things are changing all over the country.” He removed his suit jacket and hung it on the coat tree in the corner. “Since I have experience with the way your bank is organized, I already have an idea where to begin.” He fingered the ledgers on the bookcase near the desk. “But before I lose myself in these books, please tell me you'll join me for dinner this evening.”

“Are you sure it wouldn't be better to conduct your investigation without a hint of influence from me?”

“You couldn't possibly sway my findings one way or the other, Henrietta. I'll ferret out the root of your problem and that will be that.” He stepped closer to Etta and lowered his voice. “I'd hate to lose the opportunity to get to know you better while I'm here.”

“I'm not free in the evenings, Mr. Owens. I—”

“Please call me George.”

“I have to check on my father once I close up the bank. As I told you, he had a stroke and−”

“You don't mind me calling you Henrietta, do you?”

“Uh, no…if you'd like, but—”

“What about this Sunday? I'll put the top down and we'll drive out to the lake.”

Etta backed out of her father's office. “Can I let you know later? I should ask my father.” The telephone on her desk rang, and Etta sprinted to take the call. She tried to listen, but her mind flitted from one concern to another like a June bug trapped against a window screen.

“Yes, Carolina, I'll be right down to look at the transactions.” Etta pushed away from her desk and headed downstairs without glancing into her father's office. Best to leave George Owens and the audit to themselves.

Carolina Swanson and James Walters had their heads bowed over a stack of papers when Etta walked into the tellers' workroom. Etta still hadn't bought that wedding gift for James and his new wife. She'd take care of that today.

“Here she is now,” Carolina said with a nod toward Etta.

James moved out of the way, and Etta stood next to Carolina. “What's the problem?”

“There's a shortage of five hundred dollars, but there's no teller's receipt to match. It's almost as if someone helped themselves to the money.”

“When did this happen?”

”I reconciled the amounts in the cash drawers last night before I left,” Carolina explained. “But this morning, I discovered the amounts were different.”

“Which of the cash drawers was short?”

“Both of them. James is missing two hundred, and I'm short three hundred.”

“Have you checked the teller's log books?”

James picked up a black book with red binding. “I checked them both. There isn't any notation about withdrawals of those amounts.”

“Normally, this would point to the teller helping himself to an unauthorized pay raise,” Carolina said. “But both of us are missing cash.”

“Someone is trying to make us look guilty,” James said. “But one of us is always on duty when the bank is open, and our cash drawers are locked when we step away.”

Etta laid her hand on the stack of tellers' receipts. “Where did you put the cash drawers when you left yesterday?”

“In the vault room, just as I always do,” Carolina answered.

But not in the vault itself. That's where the majority of the bank's cash was kept and it remained closed and locked. Etta and her father were the only ones who knew the combination.

“And before you ask,” Carolina said, “I've started keeping my keys with me at all times.” She pulled a black grosgrain ribbon from beneath her blouse. Three brass keys were suspended from it.

Etta had ordered the lock on her father's office door to be changed, but she hadn't thought about the vault room. She patted Carolina's arm. “All right. You've reported the matter to me, and that's where your responsibility ends. Send the log books up to me tonight before you leave. I'll look into it.”

Carolina's eyes grew moist. “I'm so sorry, Etta.”

“Don't give it another thought. But starting tonight, we lock all cash drawers in the vault.”

Carolina nodded and wiped her eyes while James mumbled his agreement.

Etta stepped out of the workroom and into the lobby. Her mind shuddered with the realization that someone had blatantly robbed the tellers' cash drawers. Only three people had keys to the vault room. Etta's keys were in her pocket, her father's keys were on his dresser, and Carolina's keys were nestled somewhere close to her heart.

Etta would have to report this discrepancy to the auditor, but she wasn't prepared to face his persistent invitations again so soon. As though summoned by her thoughts, George paraded through the lobby and made his way to Arthur Lewis's desk. Talking to the account manager could take hours. What better time to pop over to Moore's Department Store and buy that wedding present?

The store owner's wife greeted Etta as she walked through the door. “Good morning, Henrietta. You look lovely today.”

Etta smoothed her hands down her light wool brown skirt. There was nothing special about the ensemble she'd chosen that morning. “Thank you, Mrs. Moore.”

Cassandra Moore glided from behind the counter like a swan on a smooth lake. “What can I show you this morning? We have some lovely new hats.”

Etta touched her hair. She'd left in such a hurry she'd forgotten her jacket and hat. “Actually, I need to buy something for James Walters and his new wife. I don't suppose you know what they need?”

A gleam lit Cassandra's eyes. “The bride was in here just a few days ago admiring some silver candlesticks. May I show them to you?”

Etta followed the store owner's wife to a back corner. Very few people bought silver candlesticks in Burnet, but Cassandra had jumped at the chance to sell an expensive item to the banker's daughter. This was another task her mother had done with her usual grace and efficiency. She wouldn't have been so easily persuaded.

“Here they are.” Cassandra placed the candlesticks on a piece of black velvet that stretched across the counter. “These are sterling silver, of course. Aren't they exquisite?”

Overdone was the word that sprang to Etta's mind. They looked like balusters entwined with boughs of roses. Would her mother have spent this much for an employee's gift? “Do you have anything else that the bride might like?”

Cassandra's cheeks paled slightly. “Oh. Well…” She moved to a display of china. “Perhaps you'd like to give a serving dish. Very few people think of that, but every new bride needs one.”

Etta examined the pieces and the price card. A platter would be one-fourth the cost of sterling silver candle sticks and much more practical. “I'll buy one platter, Mrs. Moore. Will you have it delivered?”

If Cassandra was disappointed, she hid it admirably. “Of course. And I'll gift wrap it for no extra charge. Shall I put this purchase on your account?”

She hadn't brought money either, Etta realized. “Yes, please. I'll be sure to settle my account at the end of the month.”

“Oh, I'm not worried about that,” Cassandra said as she carried the platter toward a back room. “If you'll wait a few minutes, I'll bring you a card to sign.”

Etta wandered aimlessly through the store until she came to a display of spring clothing.

At the sight of pastel linen and silk, grief climbed out of its hiding place and encircled her throat. She and her mother wouldn't be shopping for Easter ensembles this year. Neither would they help with the Fourth of July community picnic nor host their traditional Christmas open house. Years and years of motherless holidays stretched before her. Etta blinked back tears and strode away from the display. As soon as she was alone, she'd give in to the tears, but not now. Not here.

“You know it's for the best, Mr. Moore,” a familiar voice said.

Etta peered through a rack of men's jackets.

Uncle Carl leaned in the doorway of James Moore's office, his hands in his trouser pockets. “It's just not fair.”

James Moore rubbed the back of his head and frowned. “I don't know, Carl. This is a decision for the bank's Board of Directors to make. I can't give my permission without the others' consent.”