Beyond All Measure (19 page)

Ada smiled to herself.
Yes, it smells like him. Wonderful
. The memory of their moment on the river, the feel of his hand when he touched the back of her neck sent goosebumps skittering across her skin.

She helped Lillian into the bed, opened the window, went down to fetch the Bible, then settled down to read.

“God is our refuge and our strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea . . . Be still, and know that I am God.”

Lillian’s eyes drooped. Ada set the Bible aside, but Lillian stirred and opened one eye. “One more? Psalm twenty-seven, perhaps?”

Ada turned the thin pages. “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?”

“Not ghosts.”

“No. Not ghosts.”

Ada set the Bible on the night table and turned down the wick on the lantern. Crossing the narrow hall to her own room, she quickly got ready for bed. Though she was exhausted from a long day of working in the heat, sleep wouldn’t come.

She looked out her open window at the twinkling mass of summer stars, her mind replaying the night’s troubling events. Was her presence here in Hickory Ridge putting her—and Lillian—in danger?

The last leg of Wyatt’s return trip—from Knoxville to Hickory Ridge—seemed interminable. The train was crowded with harried mothers and crying children and half-drunk salesmen arguing politics. Wyatt rubbed his tired eyes, stretched one leg into the aisle. Despite his success with the governor, all he could think about was those few moments alone on the river with Ada.

The look in her clear gray eyes had told him what he’d wanted to know but had been afraid to ask: that her tender feelings matched his own. That and her quickened breath and the way she’d trembled at his touch.

The question now was, what did he intend to do about it?

Hats by Ada.
He studied the small ad prominently displayed on page two of the
Gazette
in his lap. When he’d first seen it yesterday morning on the outbound train, he’d felt a familiar jolt of anger and a deep sense of disappointment. How could he trust her with his affections if he couldn’t trust her to keep her word on something so simple as canceling an ad? But as the train chugged toward the capital, he’d calmed down and tried to see things from her point of view.

She tried so hard to keep up appearances. Her shoes were always shined, her few dresses clean and brushed, but all the shining and brushing in the world couldn’t hide the fact that the heels of her shoes were rundown and her skirts were threadbare and peppered with holes. He wasn’t much of a fashion expert, but he’d seen enough well-dressed ladies in the capital to realize Ada’s clothes were out of date. Nowadays, ladies wore some kind of little pillow thing at the back of the skirt, an armload of extra cloth that served no useful purpose as far as he could tell, and the top part—the bodice?—had more little bows and buttons and such.

Her hats were old too. Last Sunday she’d decorated the brim of the one she was wearing with a scrap of shiny ribbon, but underneath, it was still the same old worn-out hat. Obviously, she was saving every penny, forgoing even the most basic of necessities in order to establish her business.

He had to admire her grit. It couldn’t be easy making a life on her own. He hated that she was being less than truthful with him. On the other hand, what choice had he given her? In the same circumstances, he’d do whatever it took to survive, regardless of his personal feelings.

The train lurched, sending the box on the seat beside him sliding onto the floor. He felt a stab of guilt. After his meeting with the governor, he’d stopped off at Waterfield and Walker, the biggest hat store in Nashville, and treated himself to a brand-new Stetson. Now, thinking of Ada and of how little she had, he wasn’t sure he wanted to wear it. Maybe he’d save it for a special occasion.

The whistle sounded as the train slowed for the last sharp curve before the Hickory Ridge station. Around him, other passengers gathered their belongings. He folded the newspaper and tucked it into his leather pouch, still thinking about Ada. He could give her a raise. She certainly deserved one. But he could well imagine her reaction to anything that smacked of charity. Just look at how she’d come undone when he’d bought that copy of Mr. Thackeray’s novel.

He wished now he had given her a different kind of present. Something small she could carry in her pocket as a reminder, that despite what she might think, he really was on her side.

SEVENTEEN

Ada grasped Wyatt’s shoulder as he lifted her out of the rig and set her on her feet. He touched the brim of his hat and picked up his leather pouch. “I’ll meet you back here when your errands are done.”

“Thank you.”

It was a Friday in late September. Ada had ridden into town with Wyatt, fighting the hard fist of anxiety forming in her stomach. During Homecoming Sunday at church last week, Carrie Daly had announced that, at long last, she was hanging up her widow’s weeds. She said Pastor Dennis’s sermon had reminded her of just how precious life was and that it wasn’t hers to waste. She intended to buy a new dress at Norah’s and rejoin the world.

Caught up in Carrie’s happiness, Ada had reiterated her offer to make a hat for her as a kind of coming out present. Then Bea Goldston, of all people, had chimed in with an order of her own. And now in the bottom of Ada’s reticule was a letter from the mayor’s wife, requesting a new hat.

Torn between elation that her business was catching on and dread at further displeasing Wyatt, Ada understood her own mother’s dilemma more than ever. Having a talent she was forced to hide, getting good news and having no one to share it with, must have made Elizabeth’s life lonelier than Ada had guessed.

She watched Wyatt push open the door to the bank and head inside. Her thoughts returned to their evening walk on the river. Something momentous had seemed about to happen between them. But weeks had passed since then, and he hadn’t mentioned it. Maybe she’d only imagined his feelings for her. Maybe he’d been caught up in the beauty of the evening and now had second thoughts. And she certainly hadn’t the courage to bring it up.

It’s probably better just to let things be
. In her position, could she really afford to be waylaid by sentiment?

She gathered her bag and parasol and headed down the road toward the park. Mayor Scott and his wife, Molly, lived in the last house on the road, a low, redbrick structure shaded by a columned porch. Ada pushed open the gate and rang the bell.

A tall, broad-shouldered woman with iron-gray hair and eyes to match peered out. “Yes?”

“I’m Ada Wentworth.” Ada held out the letter she’d received the week before. “You asked me to call on my next trip to town. About your hat.”

“My . . . oh! Yes! Hats by Ada! Well, come on in. Sit a spell.”

Ada went in. The woman grabbed her hand and pumped it. “Pleased to meetcha! I’m Molly Scott. The mayor is down at the town hall doing whatever it is they do down there.”

She led Ada into a small sitting room furnished with a settee and a wing-backed chair upholstered in needlepoint. “Can I getcha anything? I made coffee this morning, but it’s prob’ly gone to sludge by now. I can start a fresh pot if you’re a mind to wait on it.”

“No, thank you.” Ada couldn’t help smiling at the woman’s enthusiasm. “I have quite a few errands to run this morning. Perhaps we should get right down to business.”

“Whatever you say.” Mrs. Scott retrieved a magazine from the table beside the chair and handed it to Ada. “Page thirty-seven.”

Ada flipped to a picture of a large hat with a fat pigeon perched on the wide brim. Two long pheasant feathers were tucked into the hatband. She stifled a laugh. It might be the latest thing, but it was hideous. “This is what you have in mind?”

“Exactly. I’ve already got the bird. My husband killed it accidentally, but he stuffed it for me on purpose. It’s on the back porch if you want to take a look.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Ada studied the picture. “This hat is made of felt. Is that the fabric you want?”

“You’d know better’n me. I reckon it’ll have to be sturdy to support the weight of the bird.”

Ada took out her notebook and pencil. “What color?”

“Brown. Same as the picture. And I want them pheasant feathers too. They add just the right touch, don’tcha think?”

“They’re certainly dramatic.” Ada made more notes. “I wonder if you’re open to another suggestion.”

“You mean a different hat?”

“Yes. In Boston last spring, I saw a lovely veiled hat with a satin brim that might be just the thing.” Quickly, she sketched the hat and handed it to Molly.

“That’s a handsome hat, all right, and I do appreciate the suggestion, but I’ve got my heart set on that bird. The mayor’s right proud of it. It’d break his heart clean in two if I changed my mind now.” She glanced at the photograph of the mayor that graced the fireplace mantel. “He’s had a hard time of it lately—needs some cheering up.”

“Oh?” Ada took out her tape measure.

Molly dropped heavily into her chair. “Coupla men on the town council want to clear out the coloreds down in Two Creeks. They say the black folks are hamperin’ the town’s ability to grow. The truth is, they want that good bottomland for themselves.”

“But surely they can’t just come in and take it, can they? What about property rights?”

Molly looked confused. “Most all the folks in Two Creeks are sharecroppers. They don’t have any say in what happens to land that don’t belong to them.”

“But if they’re thrown off their farms, where would they go?”

“That’s exactly the problem now, ain’t it? There’s enough poor folks in these parts without throwin’ a buncha the blacks off the land. Folks coming into Hickory Ridge on the train think what a prosperous little town we got goin’ here. And thanks to Wyatt Caldwell and his mill, we’re doin’ better’n most. But you go ten miles out of town and it’s a whole different kettle of fish. They’s people out there, black and white, just barely holdin’ on.”

Molly shook her head. “Me and the other women in my church circle do what we can, but it’s never enough. I just don’t see how it’s goin’ to help our town to clear out Two Creeks. My Hiram don’t understand it neither. That’s what’s been weighin’ heavy on his heart—and that’s why I got to get that hat. He likes for me to look nice. Seein’ me in that there bird hat will take his mind off ever’thing else.”

“No doubt,” Ada said. “Hold still while I measure your head.”

She jotted Molly’s hat size into her notebook. “That’s all I need for now.”

“You don’t want my stuffed bird?”

“Not just yet. I’ll come back for it when I’m ready to trim the hat.”

“How much do I owe you?”

“Two dollars now. Two when I deliver the finished hat.”

Molly whistled. “That’s a lot of money, but it don’t matter. Can’t put a price on my man’s happiness.” She took the money from a green vase on the mantel. “When do you reckon you’ll be finished?”

“Perhaps by the middle of October.” Ada tucked the money into her bag. “You’re in luck because I just received a shipment of supplies from Boston. I have a hat block in your size, so I won’t have to send away for anything before getting started.”

They went to the door.

“Charlie Blevins down at the mill, he’s real good with his hands,” Molly said. “He could make all the hat blocks you need. Save you the trouble of ordering ’em from back east.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Ada waved to Molly and retraced her steps, stopping first at the bank to open an account, then to the
Gazette
, where Patsy Greer greeted her with an open grin and handshake only slightly less powerful than Molly’s. Patsy plopped down behind the desk and picked up her spectacles. “What can I do for you? You need a bigger ad?”

“Actually, I’ve come to cancel it.” Ada set her parasol on the floor and perched on the chair opposite Patsy’s.

Patsy frowned. “I thought you liked it.”

“Oh, I do! It was exactly what I wanted. It’s just that”—she swallowed, willing the words to come—“my duties at Mrs. Willis’s are taking more time than I anticipated, and I can’t take on any more hat orders right now.”

“That’s too bad. At church last Sunday, when Mrs. Scott was going on and on about her plans to buy a new hat, several more ladies said they wanted new hats too.”

“Maybe later on.” Ada laid a bill on the counter. “I believe this settles my account.”

“Sure. Just let me know when you want to start running it again.” Patsy stood. “Did you happen to see the story we ran on the Founders Day incident?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Hold on. I’ve got an extra around here someplace.” Patsy rummaged in the file cabinet and extracted a paper.

“Here you are.”

Ada read the headline, printed in large, bold type. “Quick Action Averts Double Drowning on Founders Day. Caldwell, Whiting Save Boys from Certain Death in Raging River.” She looked up. “Very dramatic.”

“Dad thought it was a little too dramatic, but it’s drama that sells papers.”