A Thousand Little Blessings (25 page)

Cats danced around Etta's feet as she neared the stable. “Nothing today,” she said, squatting to pet the playful animals. “I'll bring you something later.” She'd have some explaining to do when her father returned to the stable. He wouldn't like it that she'd been coddling the kittens.

Antares and three mares browsed placidly in the pasture as she entered the stable. Upon hearing her footsteps, Mira nickered a greeting from her stall.

“Good morning to you, too,” Etta said. “I hear you may have a sore foot.”

She hastened to the stall with light steps. But her heart stopped as quickly as her feet when she saw Gabriel standing next to Mira.

“Gabriel!” She rushed toward him, delight coursing through her veins at the sight of him. “When did you get back?”

Gabriel turned his back to her and stepped behind the mare. “Good morning, Etta. How are you?”

Etta's excitement froze in her throat. “What?”

“I thought I'd come by and check on your horses. It looks as though Benito's been doing a fine job.” Gabriel squatted and lifted Mira's hind leg. “I agree with him about the hoof. Would you like me to call the vet?”

Etta's throat ached from the emotion she fought to keep at bay. She'd dreamed of running into Gabriel's arms, but he obviously wasn't as glad to see her as she was to see him. “Is something wrong? Why didn't you let me know you were back?”

“Everything's fine, Etta. Except Mira's hoof. I'll call Doc Scott and see when he can get by here.”

Why was Gabriel being so cold? What had happened to change him?

Etta searched his face for the man she'd fallen in love with. The same light blue eyes glanced at her, but now they were shuttered. He appeared to be freshly-shaven, so it wasn't stubble that darkened his expression. Etta clasped her hands behind her back and stood near the stall door.

Gabriel remained in the corner of the stall, as though using the horse's body as a shield.

Mira flicked her ears and shifted her weight from one side to another, perhaps sensing the uneasiness between the two humans she normally trusted.

Etta blinked away traitorous tears. “Is that all you have to say to me, Gabriel?”

He rested his hands on Mira's back and glared at Etta. “What else is there to say?”

Etta turned her face away and gazed at the open stable door. Why was she subjecting herself to such treatment? She'd done nothing except pine for Gabriel the whole time he'd been gone. How silly she'd been to dream about his return.

“I'm glad you're home.” Etta winced to hear her voice quiver. She swallowed and tried again. “I hope your trip was a success.” She stepped out of the stall and walked toward the stable door. Tears flowed down her cheeks, but she was determined not to let Gabriel see her distress. How could she have been so wrong about him?

Well, fine. If that's the way he wanted it, she wouldn't force herself on him. Besides, she had no time for romance. She had a bank to save, and the less she thought about Gabriel Benson, the better.

 

****

 

Gabriel pounded the stable wall as he watched Etta march back toward the house. He hadn't planned on seeing her until he'd grown accustomed to the idea of her marrying someone else. Although, if he were truthful, that could take decades.

Then she'd stepped into the stable, radiating the peaceful joy that was as much a part of her as her hair and skin, and anger had risen up his spine and landed on his tongue. He shouldn't have spoken to her so brusquely, but it had taken every ounce of self-control to not take her in his arms and convince her to marry him instead of William Clark.

What right did he have to speak to her of marriage? William was a professional man with a secure future, and Gabriel had little to offer. He had no job, no home of his own. He didn't even have an automobile. William Clark wasn't haunted by the war. He probably slept through the night and dreamed of spring meadows and lollipops.

Gabriel slammed the stall door but immediately regretted it when Mira squealed and bolted away from him. He sank to the ground and rested his back against the wall. He'd lost so much since that one day in France, and now it looked as though he would lose his future, too.

 

****

 

Cora Beck was hanging wet overalls on the line when Etta drove up to the ranch house. Cora wore a faded floral housedress and a man's battered hat.

Etta removed her Breton-styled hat and matching gloves before exiting the car. She'd considered wearing her riding clothes in order to visit the farmers and ranchers whose accounts were overdue, but since she was coming on bank business, she wore a camel-colored light wool skirt with matching jacket.

Cora raised a hand in greeting and ambled toward the dusty drive. “Morning, Miss Davis. What brings you all the way out here?”

Etta returned Cora's warm smile and removed her jacket. “Good morning. I'm calling on clients today to see how they're doing. Is Kurt or his father around?”

“Not right now, but they'll be heading in for lunch soon. Come on in, and I'll pour us some lemonade.”

“That sounds wonderful. Thank you.”

Etta followed Cora onto the back porch of the rambling frame house and into the kitchen.

A cardboard box of folded baby clothes sat on top of the round table.

“Sorry about the mess,” Cora said as she moved the box to the floor. “I was getting some things together for our neighbor. Their baby's due any day now.”

The sight of the baby clothes pricked Etta's tender heart. Cora's baby had been born too early and had died after only a few days of life, its tiny body unable to thrive. “It's generous of you to share.”

Cora fingered the crocheted lace on a tiny yellow sweater. “Oh, they're just a loan. I'll get ‘em back when I need ‘em.”

Etta wanted to comfort the young woman, but she barely knew Cora. The Beck family had been clients of the bank for many years, but Cora had married Kurt Beck while he'd been working on an uncle's ranch in Oklahoma. Etta lightly touched Cora's shoulder. “I was sorry to hear of your loss.”

Cora walked to the window and gestured with her head. “We had a nice service for our little Melanie. She's right up there in the family plot, looking down on us.” She glanced at Etta, smiled quickly, and returned her gaze to the window. “I know she's not really there, but it's a comfort to know she's still close. Kurt and me will have more children. I'm sure of it.”

Life in rural Texas was so hard. Water was the only antidote to the summer heat, and rain could be as scarce as diamonds.

“I admire your positive outlook,” Etta said. “I'm not sure I would do as well if I were in your situation.”

Two men rode up to the house, their pinto horses kicking up plumes of dust.

“Here's Kurt and his pa now,” Cora said. “I need to get lunch on the table.”

Both men stopped outside the back door and used a wooden boot jack to pry off their dirty boots. Oscar Beck entered first, followed closely by his son. “Hey there, Miss Davis. I wondered whose car that was. What brings you out today?”

Etta offered her hand to Oscar.

Like most of the area ranchers, Oscar was deeply tanned. In keeping with the spring warmth, he wore a long-sleeved white cotton work shirt and khaki pants.

“I wanted a chance to talk to you about a few things, but don't let me interrupt your lunch. I can come back another time.”

Oscar removed his broad-brimmed straw hat and hung it from a nail by the back door. “Nonsense. Just tuck in and share what we've got. As long as you don't mind plain eating.”

The salt of the earth. That's how Etta's mother had described these hardworking people. They persevered through droughts and erratic cattle markets to make a living doing what they loved. “I'd love to stay for lunch. It sure smells good.”

Kurt Beck removed his hat and shook Etta's hand. “Nice to see you, Miss Davis. What brings you all the way out here?”

“I'm visiting some of the bank's clients today. But don't worry. It's not bad news.”

Kurt smiled broadly, his teeth whiter than normal due to his sun-darkened skin. “That's a load off my mind. We don't need any bad news.” He nodded to Etta and walked to the stove where Cora dished out a fragrant meal. Kurt laid a gentle hand on Cora's shoulder and kissed her cheek.

She turned and smiled up at her husband, an everyday intimacy that stung Etta's heart. It was precisely that kind of loving touch that Etta had dreamed about sharing with Gabriel. Etta tried to picture William coming home after work, tired from a day in the office. Would he greet her with a kiss and a loving touch? She couldn't picture it.

Cora carried a large crockery bowl to the table. “Just cornbread, butter beans, and a chunk of ham,” she said, setting the food on the oil-cloth covered table.

“Do we still have buttermilk?” Oscar asked.

“Sit down,” Cora answered. “I'll get some.”

Once they were all seated, Oscar clasped his hands and bowed his head. “Thank You, Lord for this, Your bounty, and thank You for our health. Please look over little Melanie and let her know how much we love her. Amen.”

Kurt squeezed Cora's hand. Cora rested her head on his shoulder for a few seconds and then reached for the plate of cornbread. “Help yourself, Miss Davis.”

Etta took a square of the golden cornbread. “I wish you'd call me Etta. I'm not that much older than you.”

Cora smiled tentatively and passed the plate to her father-in-law.

Oscar slathered butter on a large slice of cornbread. “Now then, Miss Davis, what is it that brings you way out here to our place? I know I'm not behind in my loan payments.”

“You're right, Mr. Beck. Your loan payments are up-to-date. But I wanted to ask if anyone from the bank has been out to collect from you.”

“Just your uncle,” Oscar said around a mouthful of food.

Etta's heart sank. She'd wanted to be wrong. “Carl Stanley?”

“That's the one. He first came out about, what, last September?” Oscar looked to his son for confirmation.

“That sounds right,” Kurt said. “He came by and said the bank was instituting a new service. Said that since it was difficult for farmers and ranchers to get into town, someone from the bank would be coming to pick up monthly payments.”

“Did anyone other than Carl receive payments?”

Oscar looked up from his plate and scowled at Etta. “Don't tell me you don't know.”

Etta gazed back at the rancher, her silence implying her answer.

Oscar's fork clambered on his plate as he sat back in his chair. “Miss Davis, are you telling me someone stole our money?”

“Did you get a receipt for the payment?”

Oscar looked at his daughter-in-law. “Cora, you handed over most of the payment envelopes. Please tell me you got a receipt.”

Cora nodded vigorously. “I did just what you told me. I got the receipt and put it in the brown envelope behind the clock on your desk.”

Etta wished she didn't have to burden these fine people with her problem. As bad as Carl's thievery was, the fact that he'd involved the Beck family somehow made it worse. “It's true that someone's been stealing, Mr. Beck, but it's the bank's money that's missing. That's why I need to know who's been intercepting your payments.”

“Mr. Stanley usually came by himself,” Cora answered. “But one time he brought a young lady with him.”

Despite her years of etiquette training, Etta propped an elbow on the table and rested her head in her hand. The weeks of denying her uncle's embezzling scheme had been wasted energy. She had witnesses now. “If you saw the woman again, would you recognize her?”

Cora's eyes widened. “Oh yes. She was quite the fashion plate. Big feathers in her hat and paint all over her face. Fancy car, too.”

Cora's description matched the young woman Etta had seen with Carl at Hoffman's Bakery. What was her name? “After lunch, I'd like to see the receipts so I can make a record of the collection dates. Do you know who else may have handed over payments?”

Kurt spoke up. “I saw Diego Benavidez at the feed store a few weeks ago. He said Carl had let him drive his new automobile the last time your uncle was out at his place. Don't know why else Carl would have gone to see Diego except to collect the payment.”

“This is bad business,” Oscar said with an ominous scowl. “What are you going to do if Benavidez doesn't have his receipts?”

“I'm going to take his word for it and make sure the bank's ledger shows his payments are up-to-date,” Etta answered. “If this comes to trial, you may be called as witnesses.”

Oscar shook his head. “I stay as far away from the courthouse as possible. Only go in to pay my taxes and that's once a year. Don't be counting on me to show up.”

“But, Pa, we could help put a thief in jail,” Kurt argued. “You've said a hundred times how good the Davis Bank has been to you over the years. They even suspended your loan payments last year when you got hurt. I think we should do whatever we can to help.”

The hard expression on Oscar's face showed little concession, but he gave one decisive nod. “Point taken. Miss Etta, if you need us, let me know.”

“Thank you, Mr. Beck. I hope it won't come to a trial, but I want to be prepared. I have just one more thing to ask of all of you.”

Oscar narrowed his eyes and set his mouth in a rigid line. “What more is there?”

“Will you help me keep this quiet? I'll be presenting all my evidence to the county prosecutor soon, but until then…”

“I know what you mean, Miss Etta,” Kurt said. “Don't worry about us. We know how to keep a secret.”