A Thousand Little Blessings (24 page)

From what Gabriel had seen in the aid stations and hospital in France, Henry Davis was one of the lucky ones. “Is Etta still working at the bank?”

“Sure,” his mother said. “Despite what some people say, there's no one better for the job than she.”

Had Etta's problems at the bank worsened in the time he'd been gone? “What does that mean? What are people saying?”

“Do you remember her uncle?”

Gabriel nodded.

“Etta told me Carl is trying to convince the Board of Directors to name him as the bank president.”

The dessert Gabriel had been enjoying suddenly felt like a lump of clay in his throat. “He'd push Etta out?”

“In a second.” Sara snapped her fingers to emphasize the point. “I've been saying some mighty fervent prayers for Etta lately. She's got quite a fight on her hands.”

Etta was probably overwhelmed by all she had to deal with. “I think I'll go over to the Davis place after I shave and get cleaned up.”

“That's a good idea,” his mother said, “but Etta went to Austin to visit her cousin. I'm not sure when she's due back.”

Gabriel carried his empty bowl and spoon to the sink. If he went to the Davis house on the pretext of checking on the Arabians, he might be able to find out when Etta would return. Every cell in his body yearned to be with her. Without Etta by his side, he felt like a ghost ship, floating without direction from one vague compass point to another.

 

****

 

Etta did her best to avoid the numerous holes on the two-lane road from Austin to Burnet. She enjoyed driving her father's car and was glad her mother had insisted she learn, although a woman driving alone was frowned upon by polite society. There was talk about requiring motorists to receive some type of mandatory license as they had in other states, but the general consensus in Texas was that there was still more open space than drivers.

Spring had arrived in all its bounty. The fields burgeoned with pink evening primrose and orange Indian paintbrush. And the bluebonnets, of course. Like a child counting the days until Christmas, her mother had eagerly watched for the bluebonnets each spring.

“More beautiful than Solomon is all his glory,” her mother had often remarked. Etta smiled at the memory. Every day brought some new reminder of her mother, but the sharp pain of loss had eased. She'd been blessed with a loving mother, and staggering under the weight of grief would dishonor that love. Her mother had raised her to be both strong and tender. Etta could do that. She could find the strength to discover who was embezzling funds from the bank.

She still held a slim hope that Carl wasn't stealing from the bank, but if the evidence pointed to him, she'd follow through.

Catherine Davis would have been ashamed to know her brother had committed such an insidious crime, but even she would have done whatever was necessary to stop him.

Starting tomorrow, Etta would drive out to the farms and ranches of clients whose accounts showed a discrepancy. If she spoke with candor and assured the borrowers that their loans were not in arrears, perhaps they could tell her who had intercepted their payments.

Just a few months ago, Etta would never have undertaken such an investigation. She would have gladly waited on the sidelines while her father or William Clark looked into the problem. But now it was up to her to take care of business. She hadn't let George Owens coerce her into marriage, and she wouldn't let anyone exploit her inexperience.

Now that George understood Etta wasn't interested in marriage, or in letting him take over the bank, the question of William Clark loomed on the horizon. William was pleasant looking, an upright citizen, and well-employed. There'd been some talk during previous board meetings about William running for political office in the future, and he'd undoubtedly be good in that type of work. But did Etta really want to marry William? Did she want to have a family with him?

Etta shook her head as her heart told her the answer. If she'd never known Gabriel, she probably would have accepted William's proposal with gratitude. But she'd come to care for Gabriel in a way that surpassed mere friendship.

Etta had tried in vain to curb dreams of Gabriel's lips on hers and of his arms pulling her tightly against him. How impractical love was. William had made his intentions clear, but Etta couldn't pledge herself to him. Gabriel, on the other hand, hadn't made any promises, but she was ready to abandon caution and follow him into the future.

But if she didn't accept William's offer and Gabriel didn't return her affection, would she be sentencing herself to spinsterhood? There were worse things. Very few married women worked. Even Carolina Swanson, who was very good at her job and one of their most reliable employees, had looked for work only after becoming a widow.

Etta's work at the bank was interesting and important, and she wouldn't want to sacrifice it for a husband and children. But, as everyone said these days, times were changing. With women's suffrage and prohibition on the horizon, families were bound to change. Maybe a working wife and mother wouldn't be the outrage it had once been.

As Etta turned onto the road that led to her home, one of her mother's oft-quoted Bible verses came to mind. “Don't worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things.” The words hadn't made sense before, but now she understood their meaning. First, she needed to solve the bank's problem. Her future would unfold the way it should, whether she worried about it or not.

 

****

 

Prayer meetings at Gabriel's church were held once a month, and in addition to the benefits of quiet meditation and shared concerns, the fellowship following the service offered congregants a sense of community and shared burdens. Gabriel sat with a group of men, listening with only one ear and thinking about Etta.

“Did you read about Zapata?” Homer Chapman, a short, heavyset man near his father's age, asked.

“'Bout time somebody shot that son of a gun,” Abe Schultz replied.

Gabriel's tepid coffee turned bitter in his mouth. Men who had never seen battle talked so casually of death. Emiliano Zapata had fought for the rights of the poor, but taking up arms had ultimately led to his own demise. Perhaps violence could be justified in some instances, but Gabriel would be happy to never fire a gun again.

He ambled to the nearby group where his mother and other ladies of the church stood in a tight circle. His earlier trip to the Davis's house had yielded few results. The housekeeper had told him Etta was expected back later that day, but she didn't know a time. Mr. Davis had waved to him from a shaded chair in the courtyard, but remembering his father's earlier assessment of Mr. Davis's speaking ability, Gabriel hadn't tried to engage him in conversation.

Normally, Gabriel would have avoided the cluster of women, but he knew they had an inclination to harmless gossip. If anyone knew the latest rumors about Etta, it would be one of his mother's acquaintances.

Mrs. Franklin held a sleeping toddler in her arms. “When are you moving to San Antonio, Eula?”

The recently widowed Mrs. Farrington answered. “As soon as the papers are signed and the bank business is finished.”

“We're going to miss you,” Mrs. Henderson said, “but I understand why you'd want to be closer to your daughter and grandchildren.”

“Is Simon Ward still buying your land?” asked Mrs. Hoffman.

“That's right. If I don't take a cruise around the world, it should be enough to last me.”

The women laughed softly at Mrs. Farrington's comment. Weren't these women ever going to say anything about Etta?

Mrs. Stoutman spoke next. “How many grandchildren do you have now, Eula?”

Oh, brother.
Gabriel felt a familiar irritation burrowing under the skin at the back of his neck. He'd blow his top if he didn't get away from these ladies soon.

Mrs. Farrington's eyes lit up as she smiled. “Two girls and one boy. I've been sewing lots of new dresses. I can hardly wait to try them on the girls.”

Sewing? If Gabriel didn't get their conversation on the right track, the ladies would be talking about recipes next. He leaned down and whispered into his mother's ear. She glanced at him with a puzzled gaze but nodded.

“Has anyone heard the latest about Henry and Etta?” Sara Benson asked.

Mrs. Farrington veered away from the subject of her grandchildren. “I have an appointment at the bank in two days. Simon Ward is going to take over the loan payments as part of the land deal. We have to sign some papers.”

“You were lucky your neighbor wanted to buy your place,” Mrs. Stoutman said. “Otherwise, you might have taken years to sell it. You know the Hoffpauir place was on the market…”

Gabriel clenched his teeth. He couldn't stand their chatter much longer.

His mother must have sensed something, because she guided the conversation back to where he wanted it. “Etta has done a fine job taking over for her father.”

“To tell you the truth,” Mrs. Henderson said, “I didn't think little Etta had it in her. Who knew that fancy college education of hers would prepare her to be a banker?”

“I'm not the least bit surprised,” Sara said. “I'm sorry Henry is ill, but it did give Etta an opportunity to show everyone what she's made of.”

Ida Clark sniffed and spoke for the first time. “I'd be happier if Etta had stayed in her father's shadow.”

Sara frowned at the older lady. “Why, Ida. What does that mean?”

Mrs. Clark blushed and cast her gaze to the floor. “I don't mean to be unkind. I know Etta has always been a good girl, and we all simply adored Catherine.” The women nodded in assent. “But you all know how I rely upon William.”

What did William Clark have to do with Etta? Gabriel nudged his mother's shoulder.

“Your son is devoted to you,” Sara said. “What concerns you?”

“Well…” Mrs. Clark glanced around the circle of women as though checking for spies. “…William told me he'd spoken to Etta about marriage.”

The women gasped in unison.

Gabriel's heart skipped several beats.

Mrs. Henrichson was the first person to find her voice. “You don't say!”

Mrs. Clark touched the corner of her eye with a lacy white handkerchief. “I'm afraid so.”

Mrs. Franklin patted the back of her sleeping child. “Etta will make William a fine wife. After all, she comes from one of the best families in the county.”

“Surely you must have been expecting this,” said Mrs. Henderson. “You didn't expect your son to stay single for his whole life, did you?”

Mrs. Clark sniffed into her handkerchief. “Ever since my husband died when William was a boy, my son has been devoted to me. But a wife can have a mighty strong influence on a man. Without my boy to take care of me, what will happen to me?”

Mrs. Henrichson clucked her tongue. “You're worrying about something that might not even happen. Henrietta has done right by her father, hasn't she? If the time comes, I'm sure she'll do right by you, too.”

Ida Clark flattened her lips into a rigid line. “William plans to speak to Henry Davis just as soon as he's able to receive visitors. Once my son makes up his mind about something, there's little chance of dissuading him.”

Gabriel couldn't listen to one more word. He turned away from the women and strode out of the building. Of all the betrayals! He'd shared things with Etta that he'd told no one else. Surely, she knew what she meant to him. Why hadn't she honored their understanding?

He kicked the hard ground and fisted his hands. If Etta wanted William Clark, she was welcome to him. Gabriel's stomach roiled at the thought of William touching her. Who was he kidding? He loved Etta. He'd been fighting to repair his broken parts so that he could propose marriage. But William Clark had beaten him to it.

William Clark, Attorney-at-Law. Who never went to war. Who had a nice, cushy office job. Of course, Etta would prefer William over him.

Gabriel cursed under his breath and stomped away from the church. The night sky stretched above him just as it did every night, but this time Gabriel could have sworn the stars were laughing at him.

 

 

 

 

12

 

The next morning, Etta refilled her father's cup with black coffee but refrained from doing more for him. Charlie Simpson had cautioned that her eagerness to help her father would only inhibit his progress toward independence. She averted her gaze as her father labored to spoon sugar into his cup without spilling it on the table.

Rosa set another biscuit on Charlie's plate. Although she couldn't be sure, Etta thought she detected a special warmness in the smile Rosa gave him.

“Did Benito talk to you this morning?” Rosa asked as she passed behind Etta's chair.

“Yes. He left Mira in the stable because he wants me to look at her hoof.” Noting the concerned expression on her father's face, Etta hurried to explain. “Benito thinks an abscess might be forming. Don't worry. I'll take care of it.”

Henry nodded and slowly raised the cup to his mouth. His hand still trembled, but the coffee stayed in the cup.

“In fact,” Etta said as she ate the last bite of eggs, “I think I'll do that right now. I have some clients to call on this morning before I go in to the bank, and I'll stop by the vet's office while I'm out.”

Etta kissed her father's freshly-shaven cheek and carried her dish to the sink. The early morning sun glistened on dew-covered wildflowers as she walked from the house to the stables. She stopped to take a deep breath of spring air and to thank the Lord for her father's recovery. If her father kept improving at this rate, she'd soon see him riding. That would be a day to rejoice. Nothing buoyed her father's spirits as much as working with his horses.