Wild Sweet Love by Beverly Jenkins

Chapter 4

Following Monday morning’s breakfast, Mrs. Nance said to Teresa, “I promised I’d find you something to do, and I have. Come with me.”

A grateful Teresa followed her into the room next door to Mrs. Nance’s bedroom. Teresa stared around the interior, slack-jawed. The place was a mess. There were fabrics, threads, ribbons, dress forms, and every other kind of item connected to sewing. The room was a riot of color, and so crammed full of stuff, it took her a moment or two to see the twin sewing machines hidden beneath all the clutter.

“This is—or was—my shop,” Mrs. Nance said. “I’d like to be able to sew in here again, but as you can see, I can barely turn around without tripping over something.”

Bolts of colored fabric were stacked against the walls, and the floor was littered with pins, paper patterns, and ribbon snips. Teresa had been expecting physical work like washing windows or scrubbing floors, not this. “Mrs. Nance, I don’t know the first thing about cleaning up a sewing room.”

“But I do, and between the two of us, it shouldn’t take long.”

Teresa was skeptical, but she and Mrs. Nance dove in. Items that were damaged or no longer usable were piled outside in the hallway. The stack grew so high that Teresa went to retrieve the empty rubbish barrels from the back porch.

After the first barrel was filled to the top, Mrs. Nance instructed her to take it outside and set it by the road so it could be emptied by the rubbish man, who was scheduled to come by the next day.

Carrying the heavy barrel down the stairs, Teresa got her foot wedged in the hem of her skirt and almost fell downstairs. After cursing the skirt and righting herself, she moved on.

Back upstairs, Mrs. Nance had unearthed a trunk filled with a beautiful array of silk fabric. Seated on a short stool, she was going through the trunk with such melancholy eyes that Teresa asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Oh nothing,” she sighed. “I’ve just been saving this silk for years.”

Teresa walked over and squatted next to her. “Why?”

“For Madison’s wife.”

Teresa was shocked. “You didn’t say he had an intended.”

“That’s because he doesn’t.”

Teresa didn’t understand. “I’m confused.”

“Don’t be, dear. The contents of this trunk represent the dream of a silly old woman who wants a daughter-in-law. I had hoped to one day be able to sew for her, but it doesn’t look like my son will ever marry.”

“Why not?” Teresa already had an answer. His tendency to be overbearing and arrogant didn’t make him an ideal catch at least in her mind.

“Can’t find the right woman, I suppose.”

“Has he been looking?” She thought about Millie Cummings and wondered why he hadn’t married her.

“He’s had various lady friends over the years, and many—like Millie—set their caps for him, but none of the relationships led anywhere. Lately, there’s been a very disagreeable young woman named Paula Wade running after him. I’m glad he’s not giving her the time of day, but I think my son is more interested in accumulating greenbacks than a wife.”

“If this Paula isn’t real likable, maybe going after greenbacks is better.”

“I agree. I’d hate to have her in the family, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone else on the horizon. If I don’t get some grandchildren soon, I’ll be too old to spoil them.”

Teresa was amused. “I’m sure it’ll all work out, ma’am.”

“I do hope so.”

“Does he know about this trunk?”

“No, and I don’t want him to. He’ll think it’s silly.”

Teresa thought the sentiment behind the silk quite sweet and that Mrs. Nance would make a wonderful mother-in-law. She couldn’t imagine any woman crazy enough to marry Madison Nance, though, but kept that opinion to herself.

They went back to work. There was soon enough discarded items to fill the second rubbish barrel. This time, Teresa managed to get the barrel outside without the hem of her skirt flinging her down the stairs.

She’d just put the barrel down next to the other one when a fancy black carriage drove up. The gray horse appeared old and tired, but the young Black man driving looked real proper in his blue livery with big gold buttons. On the seat behind him were two women; one young, one not. They were fashionably dressed in the fancy gowns and veil-draped, wide-brimmed hats city women sported.

Aided by the driver’s hand, the women stepped down. The older woman’s blue gown fit like someone had forced twenty pounds of potatoes into a ten pound sack. “Are you with Mrs. Nance’s household?” she asked Teresa.

“Yes.”

“Please run and tell her that Miss Paula Wade and Mrs. Daphne Carter are here to visit. Thank you.”

The tone was the dismissive one used for servants, and Teresa wasn’t pleased at all. She assumed the young woman was the same Paula Wade trying to rope Madison, but she had no clue as to who Mrs. Carter might be. Because the older woman could be a close friend of Mrs. Nance, and Teresa didn’t want to offend her benefactor, she turned and walked back to the house without being rude. Dressed in her too large skirt, second-hand blouse, and well-worn brogans, she supposed she did look like the help.

Just then Mrs. Nance appeared on the porch. She was carrying a broken dress form.

“Guests,” Teresa told her, taking the form from her mentor’s hands.

Upon recognizing the two women coming up the walk, Mrs. Nance sighed unhappily, “More like, pests.”

Teresa grinned. She was liking Molly Nance a lot.

Carrying the form out to the street, she heard Mrs. Nance say behind her, “Daphne and Paula. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“We were in the area,” Mrs. Carter trilled, “and thought we’d stop and visit.”

“I really hadn’t planned on entertaining callers today, but please, come in.”

Teresa decided to reenter the house through the back door in order not to disturb the women’s visit, but when she entered the kitchen, Mrs. Nance was there, putting small cakes on a platter and grumbling beneath her breath, “Apparently, proper etiquette has gone out of the window. You do not show up at someone’s door just out of the blue.”

“Is this the same Paula Wade you told me about earlier?” Teresa asked.

“Yes. The other woman is her aunt Daphne.” Mrs. Nance opened the icebox and took out the pitcher of lemonade Emma prepared each morning. “If they want fancier refreshments, they are free to seek it elsewhere.”

Teresa picked up the tray of cakes from the counter. “You go on ahead. I’ll bring this and come back and get the lemonade.”

“Thank you, dear. Now give me a moment to plaster on my smile and we’ll go.”

Hiding her amusement, Teresa followed Mrs. Nance to the parlor.

As Mrs. Nance took a seat on the settee and began to make small talk, Teresa set the tray of cakes down on a small table, then went back to the kitchen to retrieve the lemonade.

Teresa returned and had no sooner placed the pitcher down when Paula Wade said in the same cool tone her aunt had used earlier, “Just a small portion, please. Sweet drinks don’t go well with my skin.”

Teresa looked her up and down. The girl was beautiful, but Teresa didn’t like her attitude or her smugness, so she poured just enough lemonade in the glass to wet the bottom. “Here you go.”

Teresa turned to Mrs. Nance, “Would you like some too?”

Molly’s amusement was plain. “Yes, dear.”

Paula was staring at the minuscule portion in her glass as if she were frozen in place. She swung her attention to Teresa, now pouring for Mrs. Carter.

Teresa met Paula’s icy stare. “Problem?”

“Well yes. I’d like a bit more, please.”

“You and your skin sure?”

Paula’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, we are.”

Teresa poured until the glass was half full, then set the pitcher down. The aunt was shooting daggers her way, but Teresa ignored her. “Do you need me for anything else, Mrs. Nance? If not, I’ll head back up to work.”

“Have a seat please, dear. We can finish later.”

“But—”

Mrs. Nance responded with that look, so Teresa sat.

Daphne Carter said haughtily, “I know you consider yourself very progressive, Molly, but our visit is with you, not with your servant.”

“She’s a cousin, Daphne. Her name is Tamar. Apologize.”

Daphne startled. “I’m sorry. She doesn’t look—”

Molly’s brittle gaze stopped Daphne in mid-speech.

“My apologies,’’ she offered Teresa hastily.

“Thanks.”

Mrs. Nance’s voice was wintry as December. “You and I never pay social calls on each other, Daphne, so there must be a reason for this interruption of my day. My son, perhaps?”

Teresa had no idea Mrs. Nance could be so lethal. She wanted to cheer.

“This was all my idea, Mrs. Nance,” Paula confessed in her Memphis-accented voice. “We stopped by the bank so that I could tell him how sorry I am for embarrassing him at my party, but his secretary refused to announce us. I was hoping you’d intervene on my behalf.”

“Hasn’t Madison told you that he doesn’t wish to be pestered while working?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Did he say this to you in a foreign tongue?”

“No ma’am, it was in English.”

Teresa hid her laugh with a faked coughing fit. “Sorry,” she offered, napkin covering her mouth.

Mrs. Nance’s interrogation continued. “Then why do you persist, Paula?”

“I just want to say I’m sorry.”

“Ah,” Mrs. Nance replied knowingly. “Then I shall let him know you stopped by and apologized. I’m sure that will be sufficient.”

The girl whined, “But I want to speak with him personally.”

Mrs. Nance didn’t bother hiding her irritation.

Daphne quickly placed a quelling hand on Paula’s arm. “I’m sure you’ll see him soon, niece. Now, let’s leave Mrs. Nance and her cousin to enjoy the rest of their day.” She stood, and the surly-faced Paula grudgingly followed suit.

Daphne said to Teresa, “It was a pleasure meeting you, Tamar.”

“Same here.”

Her niece said nothing.

Mrs. Nance walked them to the door, and after their exit, closed it firmly.

Teresa drawled, “Interesting pair.”

“Not half as interesting as they think,” she replied, then did a mincing imitation of Paula. “‘No, ma’am. It was in English.’”

Teresa’s laughter erupted.

“Simpering little nitwit. No man in his right mind will marry that girl. Come on, let’s see how much more we can get done upstairs before luncheon.”

They accomplished quite a bit. By the time Emma came up to announce that lunch was ready, the room was in much better order. It was not finished by a long shot, but at least the floor could now be seen.

At about three that afternoon, a messenger from the telegraph office arrived. Mrs. Nance gave the young man a few pennies for a tip, then handed the envelope to Teresa, who tore it open and read:

WE ARE SO PLEASED WITH YOUR NEWS. WILL WRITE TO YOU SOON. WE LOVE YOU VERY MUCH. NEIL AND OLIVIA.

Tears stung her eyes. Dashing them away with the back of her hand, she wished she didn’t have to wait another year to see them again.

Mrs. Nance appeared to have read her mind, and said in a soft voice, “You’ll see them soon. The year will pass quickly.”

While incarcerated, Teresa hadn’t allowed herself to even think about being reunited with her family because it was too painful, but now, as three years of pent-up emotions rose up and grabbed her, she thought her heart might burst. “Do you mind if I go sit in my room for a spell?”

“Go right ahead. I’ll let you know when supper’s ready.”

“Thanks,” she whispered.

Upstairs in her room, Teresa sat down on the bed, clutched the telegram close to her heart and let the tears run unhindered down her cheeks.

The First Community Bank was founded by Madison and a small group of investors three years ago because the White-owned banks downtown eschewed the savings of the poor people in the city. The banks’ reasons were both racial and economic; they saw little value in maintaining accounts that held the five dollar savings of a domestic worker or the twenty dollars belonging to a hotel doorman.

Traditionally the race avoided banks anyway. Many folks preferred to secret their savings in mattresses, pillowcases, or in the city’s well-run benevolent societies. The failure of the Freedman’s Bank during Reconstruction had wiped out the hard-earned savings and pensions of its Black investors, leaving them with nothing. Now they were wary of financial institutions of any kind.

That wariness had even applied to Madison’s establishment. Trying to convince people that their money would be safe had been difficult at first, but he’d found salvation. The fifty-five Negro churches in and around the city had over twelve thousand members and took in roughly $94,000 a year in income. Madison and his staff had spent months, and in a few cases years, wooing the various reverends and pastors in an effort to convince them to commit their funds to the bank for safekeeping. In the end, some had, but others had not.

He was grateful for those who had because their funds allowed him to make loans in the community to small businesses and entrepreneurs who were given short shrift by the downtown banks. Across the nation, the number of banks owned by men of color could be counted on one hand. Most were modest operations like First Community, but all served a noble purpose.

“Thank you, Mr. Nance,” the heavyset woman seated on the other side of his desk said with heart-felt emotion. He’d just approved the loan she’d applied for to buy the house next door to her home. She planned to lease out the space to supplement the income she brought in as a hairdresser. He had loaned money to her before, and she’d always repaid her notes in a timely manner, so Madison considered her a good risk.

“Glad I could help you, Mrs. Randana. Now you can begin advertising for tenants.”

“I already have a couple in mind. He’s a waiter, and she takes in wash. I met them through my church. You’ve given me a blessing that I can now pass on to them. Thank you.”

He nodded and stood to escort her out of his office. They walked to the front door, and after thanking him again, she left smiling.

Martin Tate, Madison’s secretary, was seated at his desk set up outside of Madison’s office door. After her departure, he said with a grin, “Mrs. Randana is going to wind up owning half the Seventh Ward if the city isn’t careful. Isn’t this her fifth house?”

“Yes, it is. She’s a good landlord. We could use more like her in the Seventh Ward.”

Tate, a recent Howard College graduate, was efficient, hardworking, and smart. Madison, who prided himself on the ability to quickly compute numbers in his head, was often left in the dust by the speed of the younger man’s mind.

Madison looked at the watch attached to his vest. “We may as well close up for the day. It’s past four. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Have a good evening, sir.”

After Tate’s departure Madison straightened his desk then grabbed his hat and headed for the door. Two new accounts had been added today. The downtown banks would sniff at such small pickings, but he did not. Each new account helped keep his doors open.

Outside, the hustle and bustle of the Seventh Ward surrounded him. The Seventh was the traditional home of Philadelphia’s Negro population. It held their homes, businesses, triumphs, and tragedies, but the ward was changing. Folks with the economic means were slowly moving away and into wards of the city that had been closed to the race when Madison was growing up. Left behind were the poor and those who had no plans to move, like Madison, his mother, and other descendants of the Seventh’s original settlers. Crime was rising, and young men unable to find employment because of Jim Crow and a lack of education and training were loitering in doorways, drinking and shooting dice. Portions of the neighborhoods were now slums, but the Seventh continued to be vibrant and alive. There were still more Negro business owners there than anywhere else in the city, and most residents were employed and owned their own property. Madison’s years as a gambler had been lucrative ones; he could afford to live anywhere, but he chose the Seventh because it was his home.

He was just stepping into his buggy when someone called his name. He turned and saw Dawson Richards, a ward boss for the Republican Party, walking toward him. Always impeccably dressed, the handsome mulatto had come to Philadelphia from New Orleans a few years ago, but in that short time had risen to the top of the party’s ladder by ruthless intimidation. Now however there was a broad smile on his face.

“How’s business, Nance?” he asked.

“No complaints,” Madison replied.

Richards’s ties to corruption and illegalities made him a pariah among the honest Negro men of the city, but invaluable to the political machine that employed him because of the impressive numbers of voters he and his henchmen were known to command.

“I hear your bank’s doing rather well.”

“Is there something in particular you wanted to discuss, Richards? If not, I need to get home.”

“Just wanted to let you know that the party could use an influential and respected man like yourself.”

“Neither of which I would be once my name became linked to the party’s, so thank you, but no thanks.”

“Who watches your bank at night when it’s closed? Crime being what it is in the area, I’d hate to have something happen to your building.”

Madison met the man’s hazel eyes. The unveiled threat didn’t sit well. “That would be a pity, wouldn’t it? But I don’t worry about it, and neither should you. Should something damaging happen, I’ve associates in the wards who’d make it their life’s work to find the perpetrators and teach them the error of their ways.”

Richards stilled.

Madison got into his buggy and took up the reins. Satisfied that his point had been made, he said, “Good evening, Richards.” And without waiting for a reply, he drove off.

Madison made his way through the thick traffic and tried to curtail his anger. Before leaving for Boston tomorrow, he’d make arrangements to have the building watched after hours. If someone so much as dropped a piece of paper in front of the door, he wanted to know about it. Whether Richards had been bluffing or not, he didn’t have the luxury of ignoring him. Too much was at stake. His customers were counting on him to safeguard their savings, and he took that trust seriously.

With his plan formed, Madison put aside Richards’s threat and set out for his mother’s house. He wanted to say good-bye before his trip tomorrow, and hoped to finagle dinner out of her too. Yesterday’s meal with Millie Cummings had been disastrous. Millie had many skills, but none related to the kitchen. He hadn’t eaten anything of substance today, and as a result he was starving. Paying his mother a visit meant having to see Teresa July too, and he wondered which Teresa she’d be today. Whichever personality she presented, he hoped she remembered they were still under truce, because he was in no mood for her sass.

Teresa finished writing her letter to Olivia and Neil and placed it in the envelope. Both the writing paper and envelope were scented, but she was sure Olivia wouldn’t mind. Emma had offered to take the envelope to the post office when she did her errands tomorrow, so Teresa left her room to take it downstairs. Not finding Emma in the kitchen, she went in search of Mrs. Nance, who was in the parlor talking with her son.

When Teresa entered, he stood up. No man had ever done that before and it threw her, but she managed to keep her voice even. “Evening, Madison. How are you?”

“Well, and you?” His brown eyes held her black ones.

“Can’t complain.”

He had on yet another brown suit, this one as impeccably tailored as the others. She looked at his generous mouth with its tempting mustache and wondered if it was possible for him to be better looking than he’d been yesterday. She decided to chalk it up to her imagination, but the palm of her right hand began to tingle, bringing back their encounter outside the church.

Rattled even more, she turned away from his amused but steady gaze and gave her attention to Mrs. Nance. “Um, here’s my letter. I didn’t see Emma in the kitchen, but she said she’d post it for me tomorrow.”

“She has the evening off. Just set it there on the mantel and I’ll make sure she takes care of it.”

Teresa placed the envelope on the mantel and turned to leave the room and escape the disquieting power of Madison Nance, only to have his mother say, “Please stay and join us, Teresa.”

She didn’t want to, but having no legitimate reason to turn down the request, she sat.

“I was just telling Madison about the progress we’re making upstairs on the sewing room.”

Madison got the distinct impression that Miss Wild West was as aware of him as he was of her and that she had no idea what to do about it. Surely she couldn’t be an innocent? “Do you sew, Miss July?”

Teresa snorted. “Not a stitch.”

“Might be a good time to learn,” he pointed out, wondering why he felt drawn to her when he didn’t even like the woman.

Not sure what was happening either, Teresa pulled away from his assessing eyes. “Your mother thinks so too. Maybe if I do learn, I can make me a pair of leathers. I’m not real comfortable in these skirts.”

“Why not?”

“I keep getting my foot caught in the hem. Skirts may be okay for other women, but this getup’s not real practical for someone like me.”

“You didn’t wear skirts out West.”

“Of course not. You can’t walk the top of a moving train wearing one of these. All this fabric blowing around get you killed.”

Mrs. Nance looked confused. “Walk the top of a train?”

“Yes. Sometimes, to sneak up on the conductor, we’d run along the top of the train so he wouldn’t know we were coming.”

“While it’s moving?”

“Yes ma’am. It’s pretty hard to do that these days, though. Trains move so fast now, it’s hard to catch up to one and board it like we used to.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Can be. I fell off one a few years back, busted my arm. First time I walked a train I was scared to death, but by the third or fourth time, it was fun. Got to be good at it too.”

The sincerity of her boast made Madison shake his head and contemplate what he might do with the one hundred dollars he was surely going to win from his mother. No way was she going to turn this train walking cowgirl into a lady.

“What’s wrong?” Teresa asked him.

“Nothing. Just astounded.”

“You must lead a pretty bland life if you find me astounding.”

Madison saw the challenge twinkling in her eyes. “You don’t have a shy bone in your body, do you?”

“Last time I checked, no.”

Teresa’s heart was beating too fast again. Hastily turning away, she found Mrs. Nance viewing her with a secretive smile.

“Something wrong?” Teresa asked.

“Just pleased you two appear to have gotten past your differences.”

“We haven’t, but we declared a truce so you wouldn’t be upset by us going at each other.”

“Thank you for taking my feelings into consideration.”

“You’re welcome.”

Madison was still trying to analyze why she was beginning to intrigue him so. As he’d noted yesterday, he certainly didn’t find her physically attractive, but he enjoyed spirited women and maybe that was the reason.

Teresa knew he was watching her, and she was as uncomfortable as a spinster in a whorehouse. Why a suit-wearing, back East banker she didn’t even like would be making her go all strange inside was not a question she had an answer for.

“So, Teresa,” Mrs. Nance said, “if I may be so rude to ask, did you really rob your first bank at fifteen?”

Teresa was glad to move her mind away from Madison. “Yes, ma’am, and I was more scared than I was the first time I walked a train.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “I did it so my brothers would let me join the gang. They told me the only way they’d let me join was if I robbed a train or a bank. They were hoping the condition would scare me off. They didn’t want me doing what they were doing, said it was no life for a girl, but I wanted to ride with them so bad my teeth ached.”

In his head, Madison heard his mother’s question echo: What would you have wanted to be? “So what happened?” he asked.

“Found a little town outside of Denver, went in and announced I was robbing the place. I was shaking so bad my gun went off and I plugged the wall behind the teller. The poor man thought I was shooting at him so he gave me every coin they had.”

“How much did you get?”

“Four dollars and thirty-six cents.” The memory was an amusing one. “Me and Cloud hid out for a few days, then went looking for my brothers.”

“And Cloud is?”

“My stallion. He’d ride me into hell if I asked him. Had him since he was a foal…” Her voice trailed off and she stared out, silent and unseeing for a few long moments. “Miss him.”

Madison and his mother shared a look.

Pulling herself away from the past, Teresa asked Madison with a false brightness, “Are you still heading out to Boston?”

“Yes, tomorrow.” The remnants of pain lingering in her eyes touched him. “I stopped by to tell Mother good-bye and to see if she’d feed me dinner tonight. I’m starving.”

His mother drawled, “After you tossed me over yesterday for a younger woman? I’m not sure I will.”

“I accepted Millie’s invitation strictly as courtesy, Mother. To say that Millie can cook is like saying frogs can play poker. I had overdone corn bread and underdone roasted chicken. I could only guess at the origins of the rest of the burnt offerings on my plate. Any man marrying her will need to hire a cook.”

“And here I thought she was such a lovely girl,” his mother replied.

“She is, if you’re not hungry.”

Teresa had no idea why she was pleased to hear that the soft-handed Millie Cummings had flaws, but she was.

“So, now you’re here begging me to feed you?”

“On my knees if you’d like, Mother.”

It was a side of him Teresa hadn’t seen. Who knew he had any humor in him at all, let alone this dry wit?

But in the end, Molly acquiesced, as everyone knew she would, and they all sat down at the dining room table to enjoy the leftover ham, vegetables, and yeast rolls from Sunday’s dinner.

Afterward, Mrs. Nance announced, “I have some letters to write, so Teresa, you can wash up the dishes, and Madison, you may dry. He can show you where the soap and the dish tub is kept.”

Teresa would have preferred to handle the task alone, but having no choice, she cleared the table and headed to the kitchen.

For the first few minutes they worked silently. To Teresa, the kitchen felt small and the air in the room warmer than it should have been even on a summer evening. She wanted to attribute it to the hot dishwater she had her hands in but knew it was a lie.

“Cat got your tongue?” Madison asked as he dried a plate and placed it atop the others that would be going back into the china cabinet in the parlor.

“No. Just got nothing to say.”

“Ah.”

Teresa washed and then rinsed a glass. “Is Millie your mistress?”

Madison stopped. “I thought you had nothing to say?”

She shrugged. “Now I do.”

“And the reason for asking such a personal question?”

“Because I’m nosy. You can answer or not.”

She had a swagger in her Madison had never seen in a woman before. Ever. “She was at one time but isn’t anymore. Anything else?”

“Nope.” Teresa went back to her washing. For unknown reasons, his answer pleased her as well.

Once the work was done and everything was put away, they left the kitchen to see if his mother was done with her letters. She was seated at the writing desk in her bedroom.

“We’re done, Mrs. Nance. I’m going to finish straightening out those ribbons now.”

“Thank you, Teresa. I’ll be in to help in a moment.”

Teresa turned to Madison. “Have a good time in Boston.”

“I’ll see you when I return.”

She gave him a tight nod and left them alone.

Madison was still pondering the conundrum of Teresa July when his mother asked, “You two didn’t fight, did you?”

Madison answered truthfully, “No.”

“Good, go easy on her. I believe she’s carrying a lot of hurt inside. Did you see the way she looked when she talked about her horse?”

He had, and the memory of her sadness rose unbidden. “I did.” She appeared fragile one minute then rock hard the next.

“How awful it must be to be in a strange land so far away from everyone and everything you love.”

“True, but the courts don’t give out bags of peppermints for crimes like hers.”

“Must you always be so cynical?”

“It’s not cynicism. It’s truth. You and I both had stock in some of the railroads she robbed.”

Outside the door, Teresa was eavesdropping. She’d wanted to hear what, if anything, they had to say about her after her departure. Mrs. Nance’s support touched her heart. Madison’s words evoked different emotions. He was right, she had deserved her sentence, she just wished he’d stop enjoying it so much. Damn tinhorn!

After Madison’s departure, Mrs. Nance joined Teresa in the sewing room.

“What kind of child was Madison growing up?” Teresa asked.

“Stubborn and incorrigible,” Mrs. Nance said with a laugh. “If there was a line to cross, Madison would find it, just to see what was on the other side. When he was fourteen, he spent the entire summer confined to his room. The only place his father and I allowed him to go was to church.”

“Why?”

He and his best friend Benjamin Norton were picked up by the police during the raid of a gambling hall. They were supposed to be attending a night watch at Bethel.”

“Really?” So the tinhorn wasn’t as holy as he appeared.

“Most of the gray hair on my head was put there by my son. Between the gambling, the carousing, and the women, my husband and I didn’t think he’d live to be twenty-five. I’m glad he’s turned his life around, but he was a handful.”

Later, ready for bed, Teresa doused the lamp and snuggled beneath the bedding. Lying there in the dark, the memory of Mrs. Nance’s earlier words rose: I believe she’s carrying a lot of hurt inside.

Yes, she was hurting, something powerful. After reading Neil and Olivia’s telegram, she wondered how they were doing, what they were doing. Had they talked to her half brother Two Shafts, and was he enjoying the home he’d built in the mountains? Did her mother Tamar still walk the earth or had she crossed over to the realm of the Ancestors? Teresa was indeed in a strange land, and her loved ones seemed a lifetime away.

For a few moments the pain of the separation began to rise but she beat it back. Pining wouldn’t solve anything, she still had a year to go; so she turned over in the bed and made herself more comfortable under the fresh smelling sheets. Closing her eyes, she slept.

Elsewhere, in another room, Madison doused his light. He was packed and ready for tomorrow’s trip. Lying in bed in the dark, he thought about Teresa July. His mother was right. He had spoken cynically. In the gambling days of his youth, he’d walked on the edge of the law more times than he cared to admit, so it was hypocritical to be so judgmental now. Making a mental note to get to know Teresa better when he returned from Boston, he turned over and closed his eyes.