The River Girl's Song: Texas Women of Spirit, Book 1 Page 8

  “Yes, I see. Please forgive the state of our store today, Mrs. Trent. I promise you will never be subjected to this sort of treatment again.” Mrs. Purpose ushered the still feather-covered Jemima Trent out the door.

  On the way back, Mrs. Purpose pulled a handful of quills from the brim of a bowler where they had settled. “Five dollars worth of fine feathers. Spoiled.”

  Mrs. Fowler laughed. “Surely a bit of floating didn’t hurt them. Here, we’ll all work together. We can clean this up in a few moments.” She bent down in her smart, gray suit and began to scoop feathers back into the bag.

  Orrie helped Zillia pull feathers from displays.

  Mrs. Purpose scraped feathers off her clothes, fussing to herself.

  “Whatever possessed you to throw all these feathers around?” Zillia asked her brother. Even with their best efforts, a few stragglers still floated in lazy patterns around the room.

  “I wanted a chicken.” Orrie peered into the bag.

  “I think that’s the best we can do.” Mrs. Fowler handed the sack to Mrs. Purpose. “Most of these are none the worse for the wear.” She pulled a dollar out of her purse and placed it on the counter. “This should cover any spoiled ones, shouldn’t it?”

  “I suppose.” Mrs. Purpose took the bill and placed it in her cash box. She crossed her arms and turned to Zillia. “I hope you understand, you will have to find employment somewhere else.”

  A lump rose in Zillia’s throat, but she couldn’t think of a single argument, so she just nodded. “Thanks for letting me try.”

  “Good day.” Mrs. Purpose held the door open and Zillia and Orrie followed Mrs. Fowler out into the street.

  The temperature had fallen and the sun was hidden behind an ominous black cloud.

  Mrs. Fowler shivered. “I think winter decided to blow through. I’d say it’s a cider day.” She smiled at Orrie. “How about it? would you like some hot apple cider?”

  “Don’t know.” Orrie scrunched up his face.

  “He’s never tried it, ma’am,” said Zillia.

  “We’ll fix that.” Mrs. Fowler shook out her heavy woolen skirts, and a few more feathers flew out on the street. “Come with me.” She marched in the direction of the general store.

  “Ma’am.” The words stuck in Zillia’s throat. “I’ll have to ask you to wait a few weeks, but I’ll pay you back for those feathers. And I can’t afford cider right now.” Her stomach twisted. Where am I going to get the money? She wanted to crawl into a rain barrel and never come out.

  “Pooh! What’s a tiny thing like that among friends? Besides, I couldn’t sleep tonight if I knew this child had gone another day without trying apple cider. It simply isn’t decent! And don’t fret too much about what happened,” Mrs. Fowler said over her shoulder. “My little brother used to get me into all sorts of trouble, once upon a time.”

  Zillia sighed while she followed Mrs. Fowler into the store. Though she appreciated her kindness, she doubted very much the woman held the same relationship and responsibility for her brother that she had with Orrie.

  Lanterns hung from hooks in the dry goods store to illuminate shelves of merchandise. Bunches of dried herbs dangled from the rafters and filled the air with tangy scents that tickled Zillia’s nose.

  Mrs. Fowler stepped up to the counter. Despite her forty-plus years, her eyes sparkled like a young girl. “Three hot apple ciders, please, Mr. Bolter.” She placed two shiny coins on the counter.

  The shopkeeper nodded, his spectacles rattling. “I have a fresh batch just now, Mrs. Fowler.” He pulled three mugs from under the counter and ladled out steaming liquid from a cast iron kettle on the stove. He handed the mugs to each of them. “Don’t drink too fast; you’ll burn your tongues.”

  Steam hit Orrie’s face when he peered inside his mug. “Ow!”

  “Careful, Orrie. Blow on it, like hot grits.”

  When Zillia’s drink had cooled, she tried to take small sips to make the spicy sweetness last. Sugar and fruit had been dear this year, so she savored the unexpected treat.

  Mrs. Fowler’s kind brown eyes studied Zillia over the rim of her cup. She drained the last bit and set it down on the counter. “You haven’t had much time for fun lately, have you, dear?”

  Unexpected tears smarted in Zillia’s eyes. She blinked them away and looked down. “I suppose not, Ma’am. I don’t really think about it much.”

  “Of course not.” Mrs. Fowler patted Zillia’s hand . “You don’t have time, do you? What about school? Were you able to complete your studies?”

  “Mama planned to send me to a finishing school back east. Before Papa died. That’s when everything changed.”

  “Don’t feel too bad.” A tiny smile played around the corner of Mrs. Fowler’s mouth. “My experience with finishing school, though quite long ago, was terrible. A blasted place full of snobby, silly girls and headmistresses with switches.”

  Should a pastor’s wife say such things? Zillia had to rest her chin on her hand to keep her jaw from dropping. “I never really wanted to go away, but Mama thought it would be for the best.”

  Mrs. Fowler leaned closer. “So what I’ve heard it true. You’ve been running things all by yourself the last few years.”

  Zillia shook her head. “Oh, no, Ma’am. I’ve had help from the Eckhart family, especially Soonie and Wylder. I never would have made it this far without them.”

  “It’s truly amazing.” A far away look came into Mrs. Fowler’s eyes. “The three of you, barely more than children and caring for that entire farm.” She turned her focus back to Zillia. “Why not sell the land and move back into town? You and Orrie could live on the money for a while, at least.”

  Again, the suggestion to sell out. Too tired to go into a long explanation, Zillia shook her head. “I can’t.”

  Orrie turned his cup over on top of his head. A few cooled drops of cider slid down his cheek. “Zilly, let’s go home.”

  “The flies will eat you alive on the way.” Zillia wiped his face with the hem of her dress.

  “I have a plan!” Mrs. Fowler rose from her stool. “It can’t be easy to stay warm in that big house during the winter. My daughter moved her family to Austin a few months ago, and Charles and I haven’t known what to do with our empty home. The silence is dreadful, and we miss our grandchildren.”

  Zillia remembered the family. A father, mother and three ruddy-faced children who sat on the second pew every Sunday. The youngest girl was the same age as Orrie.

  “Why don’t you come and live with us?” Mrs. Fowler continued. “We have plenty of room and toys for Orrie. For the cold season, at least.”

  “How would... we could never pay you...” Zillia began.

  “Oh yes, you could!” Mrs. Fowler gestured for them to follow her outside. “I’m so busy with church matters and the Town Improvement Society. I barely have time to clean my own home. I would love to have someone help me tidy up the place and do some light cooking.”

  “I’m not the best cook.”

  “You have to be better than me.” Mrs. Fowler clasped her gloved hands. “Oh, please come! I don’t even have to ask my husband, I know he would be delighted to have a little one in the house again.”

  Should I agree to it? Could I possibly accept such an offer? Orrie needed her to make good decisions for both of them. And Orrie’s needs were more important than the pride burning so fiercely throughout her body. Mama would have said yes.

  “Well, I’m sure Grandpa Walt and Grandma Louise would be glad to keep the animals in exchange for milk and eggs. As for our mule, Sometimes, I’ll sell him to Farmer Brand, and good riddance.”

  “Sometimes?” Mrs. Fowler’s eyebrows perked.

  “Because he sometimes will, and sometimes won’t.”

  The Pastor’s wife’s laughter followed them down the road.

  December 1888

  9 A Place to Winter

  Zillia scanned the house. Would they need anything else? Much could stay here. Defini
tely the beds, since the Fowler’s guest rooms offered much nicer places to sleep than old cots and feather ticks. She’d packed the few articles of wearable clothing. Orrie’s growing collection of wooden toys from the Eckharts would come along on the wagon. Gruff, and the goats and chickens, had gone to stay with the Eckharts for the time being.

  “God, keep the house safe while we’re away.” A bit of sadness dripped into Zillia’s heart. Though the building needed repairs, it had been her only sanctuary for twelve years. We won’t be gone forever. It’s just for a few months.

  Soonie waited for her outside. “We’ll miss you.”

  “I’ll miss being here.” Zillia slung a bag over the wagon’s side. “But you can visit whenever you come into town. Perhaps we can plan lunches after church on Sundays. I sure won’t miss the cold.” She smiled. “Just think, Soonie, the Fowler’s have a real bathtub!”

  “It does sound nice.” Soonie swung a rope over the boxes and pulled it tight. “Of course, I prefer to bathe in the river.”

  “Oh, Soonie, you don’t really do that?”

  “Not on the coldest days.” Soonie’s eyes danced with mischief.

  Orrie stood by the fence, feeding the goats bits of hay.

  Zillia patted his shoulder. “Let’s go, Orrie, say goodbye to the house.”

  “Goodbye!” Orrie called. He followed her to the wagon and climbed in.

  “I can’t believe you really take baths in the river.” Zillia shook her head, while the wagon rattled down the road. “We’ve been friends for so long, but you still surprise me sometimes.”

  Soonie stared down at the reins. “You might not want to know about that part of me, the Comanche girl who loves to be in the woods. You’d probably think I’m not right in the head.”

  Zillia stared at her. Does she truly not see how much I respect her? “Of course not, Soonie, I would never think that. You’re my best friend. My life is so crazy, with the farm and Orrie. I get caught up in my own worries and it may not seem like I care about anything else. I’m sorry.”

  “It doesn’t hurt my feelings,” Soonie replied. “But it does surprise me how much Grandma Louise knows about my activities when she has so many other things to do. Of course, she has Grandpa Walt to help bear her burdens.”

  “That might be nice,” Zillia blurted.

  “What would be nice?”

  “Well, to have a good man to share my life. Maybe we could help each other.”

  “You have anyone in mind?”

  “No.” Zillia pulled her sunbonnet down to hide her red face. “But I’m almost nineteen. In Virginia, I’d be an old maid.”

  “Don’t forget, I’m only a month younger. I’m not old!” Soonie huffed.

  “I’ve just been doing this for so long on my own. It would be nice to have a man to swoop in and help me, so I don’t always have to figure everything out.”

  ‘Men,” Soonie scoffed. “They don’t always have the answers either.”

  Jeb’s sneering face flickered into Zillia’s mind. Mama had been so sure about him, the handsome stranger who rode in from the north to help his widowed sister. She didn’t know he’d lost his share of the family money to gambling and bad decisions. He’d seen Mama, a wealthy woman just bereft of her husband, as an easy target.

  “My brother is a good man.” Soonie’s words jolted her thoughts.

  “Wylder?” Zillia gave a short laugh. “He’s my best friend, except for you. Besides, why would he want a woman who already has a small child to care for?”

  Soonie’s mouth dropped open. “I was teasing. You’ve considered this? Not that I would mind having you for a sister.”

  “Soonie-- how could I contemplate something that’s not offered? Your brother is a wonderful friend. But I don’t think he could see me as more than a pesky little girl he has to help all the time.”

  Soonie’s slim shoulders rose up and sank back down.

  She’s his sister, perhaps she sees something I don’t. Zillia sighed. Even if Wylder held feelings for her beyond friendship, could she return those sentiments?

  They turned towards the Fowler’s home, down the winding drive lined with white slatted fences. A few sleepy-looking cows grazed beneath giant oak trees.

  Mrs. Fowler jumped up from her front porch swing and waved a handkerchief at them. She wore a blue calico dress and a straw bonnet Zillia recognized from the hat shop. Most pastor’s wives dressed in gray or black, but Mrs. Fowler rarely stuck by tradition, to the scandal of the town. She often said God wouldn’t have created colors if he didn’t want people to wear them.

  “Come in, dear. My husband is attending a church committee meeting, so he won’t be home until later. Why don’t you bring your things inside?”

  Zillia held out her arms for Orrie to jump down. “Come on, let’s go see our room.”

  She and Soonie pulled boxes out of the buckboard and followed Mrs. Fowler up the porch steps and into the house.

  When they entered the foyer, Orrie chewed on his finger and stared.

  Zillia fought not to do the same.

  The house was not grand, by any means, but it was the nicest place she had visited since her mother’s death. Blue and gold patterned paper covered the walls, and red pine floors rested under her feet. Every surface appeared bright and clean, but a closer look revealed light fingerprints on the walls, and repaired cracks in the furniture.

  Mrs. Fowler followed her glances and smiled. “Some things I can’t bear to wash away. I miss my grandbabies so much.” She dabbed at her eyes with the hankie.

  Little hands appeared over the edge of a polished end-table. Orrie pulled down a basket and put it on his head.

  “Orrie, no!” Zillia dropped her box and snatched it from him. “I’m sorry, he’s been doing that lately.”

  “Don’t worry, everything in his reach is safe. I can promise it’s been played with before.” Mrs. Fowler led them through the hall and into the sitting room.

  A fireplace filled the room with welcoming crackles. Zillia was tempted to curl up in the velvety cushions of the fainting couch and take a nap.

  “Your room is here.” Mrs. Fowler went through a side door.

  Zillia couldn’t stop a delighted gasp. The bed, covered with a cheerful quilt, was twice the size of her cot at home. Lace curtains settled over a window. Against the wall, a small bed had been prepared for Orrie, along with a wooden box overflowing with toys. Her rocking chair, which had been brought over earlier, resided by the room’s fireplace.

  “Will this do?” Mrs. Fowler turned to her.

  “It’s wonderful. Too nice for us, really. I could never complete enough housework to pay for this.”

  Mrs. Fowler chuckled. “Do you know how much housekeeping services cost? We’re happy to have you here.” She sniffed the air. “I think supper might be ready. Don’t worry, the neighbor lady made us some stew, so you won’t have to suffer through my cooking. Why don’t you and Soonie get your things settled and then we’ll eat.”

  “What do you think?” Zillia asked Soonie when Mrs. Fowler left the room.

  “I’m so happy for you.” Soonie smoothed the quilt. “You and Orrie will be much warmer here. We will all worry less.”

  Zillia had never considered the Eckhart family might be concerned them. So many times during the coldest months she had stepped outside to find extra bundles of firewood left by Wylder or Grandpa Walt. This is a burden removed from their shoulders as well.

  Zillia hugged Soonie. “Thank you for everything, dear friend.”

  Soonie squeezed her back. “Don’t forget, it is God who made all these things possible. Because He cares for His children.”

  “It must be true.” Zillia bowed her head. “I can’t imagine this happening without His provision.”

  ###

  A few specks of dust settled on the mantle, just out of Zillia’s reach. Standing on her toes, she swiped at them with a feather duster.

  Next came the windows. The panes already sparkle
d like drops of dew in the sunshine, but she rubbed them down with a soft rag anyway. Through the glass she could see Pastor Fowler moving through the yard. A small shape toddled behind him.

  Pastor Fowler and Orrie had become fast friends. At the middle-aged gentleman’s suggestion, Orrie called him “Papa Bird.” When Pastor Fowler was home during the day, chances were the little boy would be right beside him, trying to imitate whatever he was doing.

  Mrs. Fowler swept into the room with an armload of packages. She piled them on the floor with a sigh. “The larger my family becomes, the more shopping I have to do for Christmas. Zillia, could you please help me carry these to the parlor?”

  “Of course.” Zillia gathered the paper-wrapped bundles in her arms. Though chores and cooking filled her days, the tasks were fairly simple compared to back-breaking farm work. The Fowlers treated her with respect and kindness, and Orrie was considered an adopted grandson.

  However, her earnings weren’t piling up as fast as she’d hoped, even with meals provided. In the spring she would have to figure out something else if she wanted to keep the land.

  She whisked these thoughts from her mind. Christmas would be here in a week, and the town’s holiday dance was set for this weekend at the First National Bank of Bastrop’s community room. Mrs. Fowler wanted her to help decorate for the special occasion. The ladies of the Improvement Society had been creating paper chains, strings of popcorn and evergreen wreaths for weeks.

  Some of the women in the church had grumbled about how pastor’s wives should be humble and modest, and not partake in such worldly activities. Mrs. Fowler never paid any mind to this kind of talk. She seemed very comfortable in her practices, and Pastor Fowler didn’t object in the least. He trusted his wife to make good choices in her own right.

  Zillia had never met a couple who seemed to compliment each other so well. Any differences must have been resolved behind closed doors, because they never argued in front of her.