A Thousand Little Blessings (16 page)

Mr. Blake laid the letter on the table. “Almost all of Anthony's letters have something good to say about you.”

Gabriel closed his eyes and let out a long, quiet breath. He'd come to confess and accept his punishment, but the Blakes were trying to console him instead. When he opened his eyes, Mr. Blake was leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“When Anthony told me he'd volunteered,” Mr. Blake said, “I thought immediately of my own father. He'd been a Confederate soldier with Hood's Brigade, and he had one unbreakable rule. None of his sons would ever be allowed to join the military. My father didn't talk much about his war, but he did tell me about the chaos of battle. So, although I don't know firsthand what you and my son faced that day at St. Etienne, I do know it's not your fault. It's not your fault Anthony signed up. It's not your fault he was sent to France, and it's not your fault he got caught in German artillery fire.”

Mrs. Blake stood and walked slowly to Gabriel's side. “I can't tell you how much it means for you to take the trouble to visit us, Lieutenant Benson. Knowing what happened, knowing that my son didn't suffer…it's everything.”

“We'll never forget our son,” Mr. Blake added, “but now we're no longer haunted by the question of how he died.”

How could Anthony's family be so kind? Didn't they understand Gabriel was accountable for their son's death? Didn't they realize he was to blame? Should he explain his culpability again? No. He'd told his story and repeating it would only be salt in the wound. Gabriel stood. “I should be going. Thank you for the coffee.”

Mr. Blake and Robert shook Gabriel's hand. Mrs. Blake embraced him. After more thanks and their wishes for a good trip home, Gabriel left, forcing himself to walk at a normal pace until he was out of sight.

Gabriel's nerves skittered under his skin like angry ants. He'd come to confess and to receive his just punishment. Where was the righteous anger he deserved? Didn't the Blakes realize that his actions had led to Anthony's death?

There was no way he could sit in the railroad station for two hours. With a clenched jaw and hunched shoulders, he turned toward the center of town for another long walk.

 

****

 

“You've definitely got a thief working for you.”

Etta shut her eyes, trying to banish the ledgers on her desk and the evidence George Owens had found. But when she opened her eyes, he was still leaning over her, the overpowering scent of his aftershave lotion causing her nose to tingle.

“The embezzler has been intercepting loan payments for five months. I'd say your chief suspect is Arthur Lewis since he manages loans, but he's only been here two months.”

“If you found evidence of the theft going back that far, why did we just notice it?”

“Two reasons.” George ticked off the findings on his fingers. “First, you regularly have your accounts audited once a year. The embezzler knew that and started falsifying the ledgers just after the last audit. Second, there have been some changes to your normal routines in the past few months. Arthur Lewis taking over the loan department and your father's recent absence may have forced the thief to change his tactics.”

A sharp pain shot through Etta's head. This was too much. Too much to think about, too much to deal with, too much for her to tackle alone.

George perched on the corner of Etta's desk. “Now that you know how the money is being siphoned off, what are you going to do next?”

Etta leaned back in her chair and rubbed her forehead. “I don't know yet. Your audit shows where the problem is but doesn't pinpoint any one person. I'm going to need more evidence.”

“I agree. I'll probably be called to testify if this ever goes to trial, but for the time being, my work here is finished.” He closed the ledger books and stacked them on the edge of Etta's desk. “Doesn't your Board of Directors meet next week?”

“Yes. I'll have to tell them about your findings.”

“I think you should wait. Fraud almost always happens in three steps. The theft itself, concealment of the theft, and conversion of the money. The thief rarely squirrels away the money for his old age. It's more likely he'll spend it on high priced items like luxury automobiles or real estate. A person who's living beyond his means is usually the first person to investigate. Does that sound like any of your employees?”

It sounded like Uncle Carl, but Etta balked at sharing her thoughts. It could be someone else, someone she hadn't considered. “I don't feel right keeping my discovery from the board, but I'll also explain that the matter is under investigation. My father always preached the benefits of full disclosure, and I'm not about to go against his philosophy now.”

“My firm could put you in touch with one of the detectives we use,” George continued. “A lovely young woman like you has no business delving into the dirty world of thieves and liars.”

How would she even begin to follow the embezzler's trail? “Perhaps you're right. Give me a few days to think about it.”

George put one hand on the back of Etta's chair and leaned in. “I'm so glad you called me to look into this problem. I'd planned to speak to your father about this but, given his recent illness, I see no reason not to speak to you directly.”

Etta pushed against the chair's rigid back. “Did you find some other irregularities in the bank's ledgers?”

George smiled at her the way one would smile at a child. “No, Henrietta. What I want to ask is permission to call on you. I've always thought you'd make someone a fine wife, and if I don't act soon, someone else may snatch you up.”

He spoke of her as though she were a prize-winning heifer. “Oh, Mr. Owens…I don't know how to respond…I…uh…”

He chuckled softly. “That's why it's best for a man of good intentions to speak to the girl's father first.” George covered her hand with his.

How could she get out of this? If she declined, she'd risk ruining the working relationship she had with him. If she accepted, she'd give him reason to think there was a chance for more than a business partnership. She withdrew her hand from his grasp and stood. “I can't tell you how flattered I am by your offer, Mr. Owens, but I simply can't give you an answer now. Between my father's illness and my responsibilities at the bank, I'm unable to think about the future.”

George's disappointment was evident in the tight line of his mouth. “Of course, Henrietta. But there's no reason we can't get to know each other better. How about dinner and the pictures next Saturday? Shall I pick you up at seven?”

Her breath fluttered in her chest like a wild bird hurling itself against the bars of a cage. Perhaps she could postpone his more serious intentions if she accepted his invitation to dinner. “I'll be visiting my cousin in Austin next weekend. That would save you the trouble of driving all the way to Burnet.”

“Wonderful. Will you give me the address?”

She'd do that as soon as she asked Nora for permission to spend the weekend and begged her to act as chaperone. “May I send you a note after I've finalized my plans with my cousin?”

“Of course. I'm so happy this is all working out so well. You'll see, Henrietta. We'll fit together like a hand and glove.”

More like a pebble in the toe of a shoe
. Etta forced herself to smile.

 

 

 

 

8

 

From what Gabriel knew of Kenneth Scott, he'd been a farm boy, lured away from Caldwell by his sense of duty and a desire to get away from small town life. Kenneth had been older than the other men and had rarely spoken about his home. Much to his surprise, Gabriel had discovered a wife registered as Kenneth's next-of-kin.

As he walked down a dusty road that wound through fields of corn, Gabriel tried to recall anecdotes about Kenneth to share with the Scott family. But what he remembered most was how unhappy the man had been. Kenneth had been a drinker, the only man in the squad who spent off-duty hours in the nearest tavern. Alcohol changed him from laconic to surly, and Gabriel had been forced to discipline the private more than once. At least Kenneth had held his own when the company saw action. He'd followed orders quickly and accurately, never argued or shirked his duty.

At last, Gabriel arrived at the orchard the town's postmaster had indicated. Hand-painted letters on a wooden sign announced “Scott Family Pecans,” and beyond that stood a small frame house with peeling white paint. A young, thin woman wearing a flowered house dress and a faded apron swept the front porch with a worn broom. She shielded her eyes with one hand and watched Gabriel approach the house.

“Good afternoon,” he said.

The woman wore her light brown hair in a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Her dark gaze watched Gabriel with the wariness of a coyote protecting its den.

“My name is Gabriel Benson. I served with Kenneth Scott in the 36
th
Division out of Fort Bowie. I'm looking for his widow, Lorena Scott.”

The woman dropped her hand but didn't smile. “I'm Lorena Scott,” she said curtly. “I heard your name before. Kenneth didn't write home much, but he mentioned you. I guess you want to talk to his family.” The woman's ruddy skin was stretched tautly over her face and deep-set wrinkles marred her forehead.

“If it's no trouble.”

“No trouble. I'll call Kenneth's brother. He'll want to meet you.” She perched her hands on bony hips and walked to the edge of the porch where she pulled the rope attached to a black cast iron bell. After several loud rings, she opened the worn screen door and motioned for Gabriel to enter.

Gabriel removed his hat. Once inside, he realized the house was one large room. A rocking chair sat near a blackened fireplace and a small table with two benches served for a dining room. A metal bed frame with a thin mattress took up one corner of the bare, but clean, room.

“Go on and sit down,” Lorena said. “Donald will be here soon. You want some water?”

“Yes, thank you.”

She went to the far corner where a metal sink with a hand pump sat beside a rusted cast iron stove. “We've got the best well water in twenty miles.” Lorena took a canning jar from a wooden shelf, dipped it into a metal bucket, and set the jar on the scarred table. Gabriel sat on the crudely made bench and drank the cool, sweet water. “That's really good,” he said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Told you so.”

A dog barked from outside and a tall man wearing faded overalls and a stained shirt stepped through the back door. A young boy dressed in clothes too small for him tagged behind.

The man was brawny and smelled of sweat. He folded his arms across his chest and glared at Gabriel, who stood.

“This here is one of Kenneth's Army friends,” Lorena said.

Gabriel straightened to his full height. “Gabriel Benson. I served with Kenneth in France.”

The other man uncrossed his arms. “I'm Donald Scott, Kenneth's big brother.”

Gabriel shook Donald's heavily calloused hand. “Nice to meet you.” Gabriel smiled at the boy who peeked from behind Donald's leg. “Is this your son?”

Lorena bent down to the boy's level. “This here is Kenneth Jr. He's mine.” She swung the boy up and perched him on her hip. “You been helping Uncle Donald?”

The boy nodded and laid his head on his mother's shoulder.

“This here is Lieutenant Benson. Can you say hello?”

The boy turned chocolate-brown eyes toward Gabriel and shook his head.

Lorena smiled for the first time, showing several gaps where teeth should have been. “Can you tell him how old you are?”

The boy concentrated on his hand, finally managing to hold up four fingers.

“Four years old,” said Gabriel. “And here I was thinking you were at least eight. You're such a big boy.”

“I help Uncle Donald with the milk cows,” the boy said, “and I can get the eggs all by myself.”

A new pang of guilt set up camp in Gabriel's heart. Because of Gabriel's bad decision, the boy would never know his father. “I can see you're a great helper.”

“You want some water, baby?” Lorena asked.

The boy nodded, and Lorena carried him to the kitchen corner. Donald gestured to the table as a way of asking Gabriel to take a seat. “Weren't you the officer in charge of Kenneth's platoon?”

Gabriel slid onto the bench. “That's right.”

“Kenneth didn't send more than three letters home the whole time he was gone. We don't know much about his life in the Army, but I guess he was happy there. He sure was miserable here.” Donald Scott scratched one of his muscular forearms with dirty fingernails. “Our Pa used to say Kenneth was born hating the farm. We all expected him to move away, but fatherhood caught up to him.”

Gabriel glanced at the boy who was drinking from a stoneware cup missing its handle. He handed the empty cup to his mother, and Lorena carried her son outside, the screen door slamming behind her.

Donald leaned over the small table. “Do you know what I mean by that, Lieutenant?”

Gabriel had an idea what Donald meant, but he'd learned long ago that jumping to conclusions usually landed him in hot water. “Kenneth's wife seems like a nice girl.”

Donald's upper lip curled into an ugly sneer. “She comes from nowhere. Raised in an orphanage in Harris County. Kenneth was working construction around Houston when he met Lorena. Next thing you know, she was in the family way. He brought her back home and then joined the Army first chance he got.”

Gabriel didn't know why he felt the need to defend Lorena. Perhaps it was because she had no one to speak up for her. “She appears to be a good mother.”

Donald pushed out his bottom lip while he considered Gabriel's words. “Yeah, I'll give her that much. And she's a hard worker. She keeps this house spotless, and her garden produces enough vegetables for all of us.”