West Winds of Wyoming (5 page)

Bolstering her nerves, she cautiously stepped inside, not wanting to draw attention to herself. Frank Lloyd, the owner of the bank, was a kind man; she just wasn’t accustomed to fraternizing with the upper crust of Logan Meadows’s society.

Inside the foyer—blessedly empty of customers—long green drapes decorated the windows, and the walls were enclosed in shiny oak siding. Brenna took a minute to check her reflection in the gold-leaf mirror that hung on one sidewall, then studied a lovely painting of an eight-point stag surrounded by several does in a field of snow. She’d overheard others talking how, over the years, Mr. Lloyd had improved the bank, adding this item or that. Last year, when the Union Pacific had requested the businesses spruce themselves up in competition for the new railway, he’d brought in the small but impressive chandelier all the way from Boston. The crystal orbs reflected the light that streamed through the spotless glass windows, making the whole lobby shine so beautifully that it resembled a lovely hotel or restaurant. But Mr. Lloyd hadn’t stopped there. He’d also added three handcrafted maple chairs that now sat along the front window.

The bank had been the talk of the town, but Brenna’d been too shy to come in without a valid reason. Today, though, she had the best reason of all. Business with the owner.

She’d entered so quietly the teller had yet to notice her. Head buried in a ledger, he worked away, mumbling unintelligible words beneath his breath.

Approaching the counter, she stopped and waited.

He looked up. “Hello, ma’am. May I help you?”

“Good day,” Brenna said, trying not to sound nervous. This was not only her first visit inside the bank; it was also her first mending job for Mr. Lloyd. If things went well, who knew where his business might lead. “Is Mr. Lloyd available?”

He stood. “Let me go see.” With that, the young man was gone.

Brenna went to the window. She waved at Maude, who was on her way to the mercantile on the opposite side of the street. A wagon rolled past.

Brenna took another quick glance around, marveling that she was finally standing in the bank, a place she’d wanted to see for a long time. Last week, Mr. Lloyd had spotted her on the boardwalk and asked her to do some mending for him. She’d been surprised, but pleased beyond measure.

Footsteps sounded. “Mrs. Lane. This is an unexpected pleasure.”

The exuberant voice almost made her drop her basket. Surprised, she looked into the banker’s cheerful face. The teller went back to his stool and picked up his pencil.

“Hello, Mr. Lloyd. I have your things ready.”

“Already? You work quickly. I wasn’t expecting them until next week.”

The unanticipated compliment brought heat into her face. Another kind citizen of Logan Meadows looking out for her family’s good. It was truly heartwarming. She took his shirts and trousers from her basket and carefully transferred the neatly folded items to his hands. “Here you are. Please let me know if they are done to your specifications.”

Well, that was a silly thing to say.
All he’d asked her to do was stitch up a loose seam or two, tighten some buttons, and mend a couple of moth holes.

“Yes, I will. I’m sure they’re fine.” He set the garments on the counter. “Now, how much do I owe you for your fine and prompt work?”

She swallowed. “Twenty-five cents.”

“That’s a steal.” He fished in his pocket and produced the money. He counted the coins into her hand, their heaviness almost making her giddy with happiness. Her business had steadily picked up since the building of the train depot. A true blessing, to be sure. She now had several regular sewing and stitching customers, and when the laundry shop got too busy, Tap Ling hired her to do the mending that he couldn’t get to in a timely fashion. And, of course, Hannah still had her baking for the restaurant. That alone brought in two whole dollars a week. She was finally making ends meet on her own without handouts—and the reality of that felt good.

“There you are,” Mr. Lloyd said. “I can’t thank you enough. And, since I talked to you last, I’ve found several more things that I could wear if I’d just have them fixed. Waste not, want not, my mother used to tell me.” The tall, middle-aged banker grinned. His dark-blond hair was neatly parted and carefully combed as any proper gentleman’s should be. “Us bankers like to keep the money we have. Would you mind if I dropped the items by your house tomorrow after I close up here?”

Pleasure warmed her insides. The drizzle of business had turned into a rainstorm, all in a good way, of course. “That will be fine, Mr. Lloyd. If no one is there to receive them, just leave them on the small table I have on my porch. They’ll be perfectly safe.”

“That I will. Now I’ll let you get back to work.”

After Mr. Lloyd had returned to his office, and before the teller noticed, Brenna fished in her basket for the three fresh oatmeal cookies she’d wrapped up before leaving home. She set them on the front windowsill where they wouldn’t be discovered right away. Since her circumstances had taken a turn for the better, she felt a need to do something nice for others. Repay the kindly citizens who’d so generously taken care of her and her brood when they couldn’t on their own.

One kind deed a day. For anyone. Could be a close friend, a total stranger—sometimes even an animal. Or, on some occasions, when the day was drawing to a close and she hadn’t been able to get to town, her kind deed went to a tree or a flower—which were also living entities—by watering or clearing away debris so they could breathe easy. She was up to kind deed forty-nine and the little clandestine actions were often the topic of whispered conversations as people tried to figure out who was behind them. She kept a small notebook tucked away under her mattress in which she listed her deeds. When she was feeling discouraged or overwhelmed, she’d pull out the journal and read a few pages. The words had the power to lift her heart every time.

Happy she’d once again been successful at not being caught, she turned in an exuberant half circle, left the bank—so joyful inside she felt as if she were walking on air—and bumped straight into another person with a loud
woomph
.

“Easy there.”

Strong arms reached out to steady her and her basket as she struggled to regain her balance. She caught sight of a brown satchel tumbling to the ground and papers flying everywhere.

Mr. Hutton! The new schoolteacher. Realizing she was gaping into his startled hazel eyes, she snapped her mouth closed.

They’d met last week in the mercantile. He was new and single—but stern and perhaps a bit unapproachable. She recalled being impressed by his grammar and manners. Having been raised by a dirt-poor, illiterate father, Brenna held book learning in the highest esteem. She preached to her children every chance she got that a sound education would open doors and enable them to achieve anything they set their sights on. The well-educated Mr. Hutton had come to Logan Meadows highly recommended, and the town was thrilled, though a bit baffled, that he’d accepted their modest offer.

“Mr. Hutton. I’m so sorry.” No sooner had she gotten the last word out than he leaped into action, collecting the white sheets that flittered about on the boardwalk.

Following suit, she bent quickly and gathered the papers within her reach. The breeze, not helping at all, kicked up, and papers fluttered here and there, down the boardwalk faster than she could move. Chuckles and laughter reached her ears as the scene gathered the attention of a few townsfolk.

Embarrassment burned Brenna’s cheeks. Finally all the papers—excluding one—were back in their rightful place inside Mr. Hutton’s brown satchel. The one exception, a cream-colored, official-looking document, had sailed out into the street on a puff of wind and landed squarely on a pile of fresh horse manure. A large green stain quickly seeped through.

With a grimace, the none-too-tall teacher stepped down into the road and carefully plucked the paper from the pile of horse droppings, holding it between his thumb and forefinger.

Brenna covered her mouth with one hand. “Oh, no.”

Mr. Hutton blew a tawny-brown hunk of hair out of his eyes, but it flopped back into his vision. “No harm done, Mrs. Lane.” His tone said otherwise.

Brenna was shocked he remembered her name. Everything about his disheveled state resembled a lost little boy, except his white-knuckled grasp on the handle of his satchel, and in the other hand, the soiled paper.

Something had to be done. Before he had a chance to step back, Brenna reached up and brushed his hair back so he could see. “There.” She smiled. “Does that help?”

A burst of laughter made her snatch back her hand and pivot.

Dwight Hoskins sat astride his roan horse, his hat pushed up on his forehead as if to get a better view. Huskier than he’d been when he’d moved out of Logan Meadows in disgrace last year, he still carried a bullying light in his eyes. “That’s the sweetest picture I’ve ever seen, if I do say so myself.”

Brenna stiffened. “Be quiet, Dwight Hoskins. Nobody asked you.”

Mr. Hutton’s face blanched, then a stain of red slowly crept up his neck and onto his face.

How could she have done something so stupid? Why hadn’t she watched where she was going? School was getting ready to start and Penny was already in a dither about the new teacher from Pennsylvania. The rumor was, he was strict. And hard. Penny wanted to be a teacher herself, and took her studies seriously. She’d be mortified if she knew what her mother had just done.

With a malevolent laugh, Dwight urged his horse forward, leaving her feeling conspicuous and wondering if there was a way of making this better—for her children’s sake.

Brenna cleared her throat. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Hutton. I can’t believe I just did that. Can I make it up to you?” She gestured to the yucky paper. “I’d be so grateful if you’d let me take that sheet and try to remove the, er, ah—soiled parts.” She couldn’t make herself say
manure
in front of such a sophisticated gentleman. “I’m a seamstress and have experience removing stains.” That was stretching the truth just a tiny bit, but she was sure she’d be able to clean his paper at least better than the mucked-up thing was now. “I’ll be sure to be careful and not damage it further.”

“No, thank you, ma’am. That won’t be necessary.”

Ma’am!

Now she was a ma’am. Just somebody’s clumsy mother who’d affected his day in the worst sort of way. All three of her children, plus Prichard, the boy she’d taken in last year, would be this man’s pupils come Monday. Everyone but Maddie, her mystery child. Surely, he’d think of this event each time he looked at one her brood. “If you won’t let me clean your document, at least let me cook you supper some night soon. That’s the very least I can do for the new teacher in town.”

He took a step back as if the thought could be dangerous. “I assure you there was no harm done. I couldn’t put you out in such a manner.”

“B-but,” she sputtered, “I want to cook. I
love
to cook.”

“No. Thank you. Mrs. Lane.” His words came out stilted. “You have a nice day.” And as her hopes for an entire school year shattered before her, he passed her by and headed for the schoolhouse.

CHAPTER FOUR

P
enny? Jane?” Brenna set her white wicker delivery basket on the floor by the door and removed her light sweater.
Where are the children?
She stepped into her small living room and shut the front door behind her. Humiliation still simmered inside her breast.
What’s done is done
, she told herself. “Stevie? Prichard? Where are you? Maddie?”

Excited voices came from the back door that led to the vegetable garden and small toolshed that served as a coop for their three cuddly chickens. She was just about to hang her sweater on a hook when eight-year-old Stevie burst into the room, skipped the short distance to her and snatched her arm down. His cheeks, two spots of red, needed a good washing. His eyes were alight with excitement.

“Guess what?” he shouted.

By now, the others had caught up and were gathered around. Penny had a tight hold of Maddie’s small hand. The blind girl had adjusted nicely to their makeshift family—and they were happy to have her. Brenna still didn’t know any more about the child’s past than she’d learned on the day Nell and Sheriff Preston had delivered the frightened darling to her door along with poor Aunt Cora’s things. But the child was sweet and eager to please. Whenever questioned about her past, Maddie’s only response was that she didn’t remember. Brenna didn’t believe that for a second. But she’d not push her. The child would tell her when she was ready.

“What? Tell me quick.” She walked into the kitchen with the children following behind like a row of ducklings. Taking the coffee can that served as her bank off the second shelf, she dropped the handful of coins inside, liking the sound the money created.
My earnings are getting heavier by the day.
That fact brought her peace of mind. Finished with her deposit, she gave the children her full attention. “Well? I’m waiting.”

Where Stevie and Prichard’s faces were bright with anticipation, Penny stood rigid. Jane was Jane, just happy to be included. She was eleven, only a year younger than Penny, and was the peacekeeper of the group. If a terse word sounded from anyone, Jane moved into action, soothing and placating.