Pearson Grove,
Texas, 1885
Deborah Taber clutched the handle of her
wicker basket as she surveyed the after-church crowd. She hated box lunch
auctions and hadn’t wanted to participate. With her parents being so active in
the community, she had been unable to escape.
Her mother elbowed her. “Smile, dear,
instead of looking as if you’re going to be burned at the stake. Remember this
is to raise money for a new church organ and shouldn’t be taken as punishment to
you personally. You look as if you’re about to bolt for home.”
“I would have walked there immediately
after the service if I thought you’d have let me. I’d run now if I didn’t know
you’d send my brother after me.”
Her brother Jeff’s eyes sparkled. “You
know I’d love to drag you back kicking and screaming. Think of the headline that
would make.” He spread his hands as if holding a newspaper. “Stubborn spinster dragged to church box
lunch auction in front of stunned congregation.”
She pretended to sock his arm but
couldn’t keep from smiling. “Thanks for saying I’m a spinster, you wretch. Now
I feel especially conspicuous.”
Getting really annoyed with Jeff was
impossible because he was a great young man. With an easy laugh and outgoing
personality, he got along with everyone. Since her brother had finished school,
he had become the main reporter at the family’s newspaper, The Pearson Grove Gazette.
Her smile faded when she spotted Eric
Barton and a couple of his friends staring at her and laughing. She hoped he
didn’t win her basket.
Wade Pearson III, who went by Trey,
sauntered over and extended his hand to shake with Jeff. “Wanted to thank you
for the nice article you wrote on my return to Pearson Grove. Didn’t make me
sound too stuffy or boring.”
Jeff shook Trey’s hand. “Because you’re
neither. Don’t know why you wanted to go all the way to Massachusetts to
university, but glad to have you back in Texas.”
“Glad to be here.” Trey turned to
Deborah and her parents. “Mrs. Taber, Mr. Taber, good to see you. Pleasant day
for the social, isn’t it?”
Without waiting for them to answer, he
met her gaze. “You look lovely today, Deborah—or do I need to call you Miss
Taber now?”
She smiled at the man on whom she’d had
a secret crush since second grade. “I think we’ve known one another enough years
that you should still call me by my first name. I can’t see myself referring to
you as Mr. Pearson.”
His grin added an air of mischief to his
blue eyes. “I hope not. With three of us, that would get confusing.”
He dipped a nod. “Good to see all of
you.” Trey ambled to stand nearby with his parents.
His father and grandfather and he were
handsome men. Each was tall and looked fit for his age. She imagined Trey would
grow to look like his father and then his grandfather. His mother and
grandmother were attractive, admirable women who were always stylishly dressed.
She was a bit in awe of them.
Eric strutted over to Deborah. “I see
your basket has a green ribbon.” He flashed a gold coin in his fingers and
leaned forward with a leer. “Got me twenty dollars here to make sure I win the
bid on your lunch. Have a nice, private spot picked out so I can sample… your
food.”
Deborah fought the urge to punch him in
the mouth. “We’ll see who wins the bid.”
Eric swaggered back to stand with his
friends. She didn’t see why he’d bothered to attend. He rarely came to church
and couldn’t possibly care whether or not the sanctuary had an organ.
Her father frowned at the departing man.
“What nerve that young Barton has.”
Mama sniffed. “He’s a very rude young
man.”
Deborah grabbed Jeff’s arm. “Don’t let
him win my basket. I’ll give you whatever you have to bid to keep him from
winning.”
Jeff gaped at her. “Are you crazy? I
can’t bid on my own sister’s dinner. Besides, I was planning on bidding on… well,
never mind whose basket. Besides, you don’t need to worry about who gets your
lunch because there’ll be people all around while you eat.”
Her father leaned near. “If that young
man gets your basket you make sure you stay with the crowd and where I can see
you.”
Her reply was cut off by the minister’s
voice. “Ladies, please place your baskets or boxes on the table here and we’ll
start the sale. Remember, all proceeds go toward purchasing an organ for the
church. Our fall fundraiser secured half the money we need. Gentlemen, dig deep
into your pockets. Let’s make up the rest today.”
Deborah wanted to untie the green ribbon
on her basket, even though it matched the new, green, sprigged muslin dress she
was wearing. Her mother nudged her forward. With a fatalistic sigh, Deborah
placed her dinner with that of the other women from the congregation and
retreated to stand with the crowd.
At least there was a large turnout for
the auction. Bidding was fast with most of the lunch containers garnering a
dollar or two. Ron Novak, the banker’s son, bid $10 for the box containing the
Novak housekeeper Dorcas Conner’s, meal.
Mrs. Conner chided, “You should have bid
on a pretty girl’s basket. You might well find the woman you want to marry.”
Ron leaned down and kissed her cheek
then placed his hands on his heart. “I’d marry you tomorrow if you’d have me.”
Everyone around them laughed.
Norris Kirby bid twenty-five dollars for
the basket belonging to his wife, Vivian. She preened at the attention his bid
caused.
The choices moved closer and closer to Deborah’s
basket. The knot in her stomach coiled tighter and tighter. She told herself
she was being foolish, this was only one meal. If anyone but Eric were
involved, she might listen.
All through school he’d teased and
tormented her. He’d bullied her and her friends endlessly. At separate times,
Ron Novak and Trey Pearson had fought and bested him. All that happened was
Eric learned to be wary of them and picked on the smaller boys.
Here came her turn. Reverend Patrick
held up her basket. Her green ribbon rippled in the light breeze. She looked
through the branches overhead toward the sky. Would it be sinful to pray for a
selfish thing like keeping Eric from winning her basket?
She heard bidding. Bert Nixon opened
with two dollars. Jeff Hardman bid three. Deputy Milton Sprouse raised it to
five dollars. Amazed and pleased, she smiled at each man who bid and waited for
the minister to end the bidding.
Eric yelled loud enough for everyone to
hear, “Preacher, I bid twenty dollars.”
Deborah’s stomach dropped to her knees.
“Thank you, Mr. Barton. Do I hear
another bid?”
Trey called, “Twenty-five.”
Deborah couldn’t believe her ears or her
good fortune. Her hand went to her throat and she smiled at Trey. She was
saved.
Eric collected money from his friends.
“Twenty-seven dollars and fifty cents.”
Shaking his head, Trey said, “Fifty
dollars.”
The crowd was silent, apparently as
stunned as she was.
Except for Reverend Patrick, who quickly
cried, “Sold to Trey Pearson.”
Eric rushed at Trey but his friends
pulled him back. “You yellow-bellied coyote. You Pearsons think we all have to
kowtow to you because you have so much money. You’ll be sorry for this, just you
wait and see if you’re not.” He turned and stalked toward his horse, mounted,
and rode toward his ranch.
Without commenting on Eric’s behavior,
the minister picked up another basket and inhaled the contents. “What am I bid
for this basket that smells so enticing?”
Grinning and carrying her basket, Trey
ambled toward Deborah. He offered his arm. “Shall we find the best spot
remaining?”
“Thank you, Trey. I brought a blanket we
can use to spread on the ground.”
“Good, I didn’t think of that.”
“You spent a lot of money for fried
chicken and potato salad but I’m grateful to be eating with you instead of Eric
Barton.” She indicated the buggy her parents had hired for the day.
“I’m delighted to eat with the prettiest
woman here. Plus, it’s all for a good cause.” He stopped long enough to
retrieve the plaid blanket. “Do you see a likely spot?”
“If you don’t mind the cemetery, there’s
a lovely place near the center.”
He led her weaving through the
headstones. “Don’t mind at all. I’ve always thought this site was peaceful—not
that I’m eager to move here permanently, mind you.”
She grinned at him. “Thank you for not
saying people are dying to get in here. It is serene, isn’t it? I think it’s
the town’s coolest spot in summer.”
She led him to the spot she had in mind.
A large oak tree provided shade. Nearby, a bed of roses sent their fragrance on
the breeze. Overhead the brilliant blue sky was dotted by a few fluffy cotton
wool clouds. Birds sang and squirrels chattered their complaints at being
disturbed.
On the bench nearby, Virginia and
Ambrose Green shared the box lunch she’d prepared. The couple was far enough
away that their conversation was a murmur with no words distinguishable. She
was glad because that meant what she and Trey said would be private.
Trey set the basket on the ground long
enough to spread the blanket where she’d indicated and then moved the basket to
a corner. He extended his hand. “May I help you settle?”
When she’d arranged her skirt to insure her
ankles were covered, she removed the small tablecloth and spread it before she
set out their food. She was so glad she’d taken extra care with the meal. The
chicken had browned nicely, thank goodness. Before packing it, she’d pulled
apart one thigh piece to be certain the meat was done all the way to the bone.
Potato salad and deviled eggs were
greeted by Trey’s “Mmm.”
The rest of the food included pickles,
cheese, corn relish, butter, biscuits, and peach cobbler. To drink, she’d
packed apple cider.
Trey accepted the tin plate, napkin, and
silverware she handed him. “From the looks of this spread, I should have at
least doubled my bid.”
“What a nice thing to say.” While he
filled his plate, she said, “Tell me about your years away and how it feels to
be back.”
His blue eyes sparkled. “Didn’t you read
Jeff’s article?”
“I certainly did. It was short, however,
and hardly consisted of six years’ worth of information.”
“There isn’t that much to tell. I missed
Texas, but I had to learn about investing and finance and our business
interests. Although he’s supposedly retired and handed over the reins to my
grandfather, I spent a couple of years in Boston with my great-grandfather
after I finished Harvard.”
“You’re fortunate to still have him.”
“He’s eighty-seven but remains sharp.
You’re right about me being fortunate. I learned a lot more about business in
those two years with WW, which is what we call him, than I did in four at
university.”
He gave a slight shrug of one shoulder. “I
don’t like to talk about money, but I have a responsibility to follow in my
father and grandfather’s footsteps.”
He reached for a biscuit. “I don’t
suppose it’s a secret that our ranch is not our main source of income. The
ranch is our home and holds our hearts, but we can’t depend on it for the
entire family’s support.”
She sipped her cider. “Besides you and
your parents, grandparents, and this great-grandfather WW, are there others?”
“There are, but they live in Boston and
Cambridge. I suppose you know Papa’s an only child. Grandpa has a brother named
Wyatt, Sr. and his wife Eleanor, a nephew named Wyatt, Jr. and his wife
Millicent and their son William, and a niece named Alice and her husband Sam
Holt. Grandpa is the eldest, so we control finances somewhat but we have to
answer to a board of trustees.”
“Goodness, that sounds complicated.”
He tilted his head. “Can be but we try
to keep it simple and grudge-free.” He closed his eyes. “Ahh, this chicken is
prepared perfectly.”
“Thank you. I cooked it this morning, of
course, and also made the potato salad, deviled eggs, biscuits, and cobbler
then. I’m always afraid to prepare picnic foods the day before in case the meal
spoils. The pickles and relish are from Mama’s and my canning last summer.”
Eyes sparkling with mischief, he looked
at her over another piece of chicken. “You’re a great cook. I apologize for
thinking your mother prepared all this.”
She pretended to be upset. “Trey
Pearson, I should be insulted but I’m not. Well, maybe I am a little. Mama is a
good cook, but she helps Papa so much that I’ve pretty well taken over meal
preparation.”
He glanced around. “I think we’re on
someone’s family plot.”
“We are. In fact, you’re sitting on
Grandma Taber. I don’t think she’d mind, since I believe she’s looking down
from heaven.”
“Sorry, Grandma Taber.” He gazed upward
before returning his gaze to meet hers. “Do you also work at the Gazette?”
“Only if I’m needed. That’s if my mother
or father is unwell or Jeff is off chasing down a story.”
“Sounds as if you’re not enamored of the
newspaper business.”
“I don’t mind working there and I’m
quite happy to help out when I’m needed. Still, it’s not something I clamor
after like Jeff does. Journalism is in his life’s blood and he’d be lost
without the newspaper.”
“What’s in your blood?”
His question pricked a dilemma she’d
wrestled with lately. “I’ve wondered that myself. I can’t honestly say I’m
drawn in any particular direction. For instance, Moriah loves helping Scott in
the Mercantile and talking with all the customers. Mrs. Paine said she loves
helping at the furniture store, though she prefers to leave Mayor Paine to the
mortuary side. Mama swears she enjoys helping Papa at the newspaper. Alexandra
loves being a homemaker for Virgil.”
He raised his eyebrows and reached for
another biscuit. “Have to admit that last one sure surprised me.”
She grinned. “Surprised everyone I
suppose, but she’s thriving at being married to our sheriff.”
“Maybe that’s the key. Each woman you
mentioned is helping her husband. Perhaps when you find the man you want to
marry, that will be what makes you happy.”
“I hadn’t thought of things from that
perspective. Perhaps you’re right.” She sighed. “Thank you, I’ll relax and quit
worrying about being a misfit.”