Banking on Temperance (7 page)

Temperance stood in front of him, her eyes shiny with unspent tears. She lifted her chin and locked eyes on him. “This doesn’t change the fact that what happened between us yesterday was wrong. But I don’t know where else to go, and my family’s circumstances just went from bad to worse.”

He stood back to allow her access to the room. She entered quickly and he closed the door before turning to her. “Has something happened since last night?”

“It’s Da. He’s dead.” Her tears, which had been held at bay, began in earnest. Basil didn’t think twice about what he was doing. He led her to a bench at the side of the main room of the bank, wrapped his arms around her, and let her cry. When he sensed she had regained control of herself, he dropped his arms and moved from her side.

“I thought Samuel’s health was improving.”

“He seemed to be getting better, and Ma was so happy. Then, last night, he began burning up with the fever again, and he died this morning. Joseph’s father is allowing us to bury him near the soddy, so he’ll still be with us until we move on.”

“How is your mother faring?”

“She’s been inconsolable, but she’s a strong woman who has known for months that this was a possibility. She’ll recover, but never will she forget him.”

“Do you need help with the burial?”

“No, Joseph and his brothers are digging the grave now, and we’ll have a short service this evening when I get home.”

“You don’t need to be here today. You should be with your family.”

“I will be. I wanted to come here to let you know that, despite what happened yesterday, now is not the best time for me to turn my back on gainful employment, regardless of the circumstances. I wanted to let you know before you found my replacement.”

“Well, yes, of course. The job is still yours. I was going to ride out to the restaurant this evening to tell you that I don’t want anyone else cleaning my bank. You do an excellent job. I think, though, that instead of going to the restaurant this evening, I’ll join your family at the grave site.”

Temperance turned a surprised look to him. “You’d do that?”

“Of course. Even though your father and I had only the briefest of contacts with each other, I want to pay my respects to your family.”

“All right then. The service is set for six o’clock, right at dusk. Joseph told us that, since the burial will take place on their land, we must be willing to adhere to some Native American traditions. I’ll admit, I’m very curious about them.”

Temperance stood and took a step away from him. “I should get home. But we must lay some ground rules, to prevent what happened yesterday from ever occurring again. I don’t believe I should clean your quarters, even if you’re not there. It’s unseemly.”

“Absolutely. I was going to suggest the same thing.”

She glanced up at him quickly. “You were?”

“Temperance, I am so sorry about what happened. Believe me, if I could rewind yesterday, I certainly would. I enjoy the fact you and I are becoming friends, without any flirtations getting in the way, and hope we can continue. I think removing the closeness of my apartment would help in that regard.”

Temperance took a deep breath. “Oh, thank you, sir. Not only are you my employer, making our behavior totally inappropriate, but I have a beau back home, who is coming for me in the spring. I must do everything I can to encourage Jeremiah to come out early, maybe within a few weeks. Now that Da is gone, we will need him to be our one strong man that the wagon masters insist upon. Plus, there is the not-so-small matter of your reputation as a ladies’ man. It’s best that I stay far away from your quarters, for the sake of my reputation. I’m afraid you’ll have to find someone else to take over that chore.”

Was it Basil’s imagination, or did her eyes take on a wistful look as she turned her gaze to the door leading up to Basil’s apartment? Such foolishness, he told himself. She was absolutely right. He was her employer, he wanted to retain their friendship, and she had a beau who was set to follow her to Oregon. And now a dead father, which would weigh heavily on her mind. He should put all thoughts of her as a desirable woman from his mind, and focus solely on furthering their casual relationship. Starting this evening, with the funeral.

• • •

Tears continued to prick Temperance’s eyes as she turned the horse back down the road leading away from town. She brushed the wetness away from her cheeks in an angry motion. She was mortified that she’d cried in front of Basil, but she had nowhere else to turn. He and Ginger were her only friends in this town.

Her mother was devastated by the loss of her partner. She confided to Temperance that she was expecting a final child in the spring, to Temperance’s total surprise. She didn’t think her father had ever gotten strong enough to make love to his wife, but obviously she was mistaken. But how could they, her parents, who she respected, put the family in further jeopardy? Her mother and she talked about what the family was to do during the long night while listening to her father take his last breaths. The baby would be born next April or May, just as the wagons were heading out of St. Louis.

How many more tribulations could possibly be heaped on her shoulders? She had better focus on sending touching love letters to Jeremiah so he wouldn’t forget about her and have his head turned by Rebecca Stoughton, her arch rival for his affections back in Pennsylvania. It was not a betrayal of her affection for Jeremiah to lean so heavily on Basil Fitzpatrick during this troublesome time. Jeremiah chose not to come with her family on the trek from Pennsylvania. He wanted to wait until his crops were harvested before he left the farm, and she had no one else. She so desperately needed someone to just talk to, since her burdens were threatening to bury her. That’s the only reason she cried in front of Basil. He realized the strain she was under, and was doing his best to remove some of it. And he was the only person she was willing to share that burden with.

She reached the restaurant and tied up her horse, stopping to sniff the air. Fried chicken tonight, unless she missed her guess. It was one of her favorites. As she let herself in the back door, she remembered Basil said he was planning to come to the restaurant this evening to discuss their business relationship. He had been as appalled by their encounter as she was, and wanted to propose an alternative arrangement.

She was grateful for his apology, even though he was not solely to blame for what happened. After all, she was the one out of line, by crawling into his bed. He was devastatingly handsome, and charming, true. But he wouldn’t get her family to Oregon. Only Jeremiah would do that, and she’d best not forget it. Still, she couldn’t control the warmth that flooded over her body as she thought of Basil dropping his plans for the evening to be in attendance at her father’s funeral. Jeremiah could have been here, and chose not to. And Basil was.

She stopped outside the kitchen door to the restaurant and put her hand on her forehead. What was she thinking? They had just had the discussion that theirs was a business relationship only, and here she was, counting the minutes until she could see him again.
Remember Jeremiah instead
, she admonished herself. She vowed to write to him that very evening, and to tell him of her father’s passing and how much the family needed him to arrive. Oh, yes, and she’d be sure to mention how much she loved him.

With a flash of resolve, she pushed open the door to tell the owner she would not be working this evening. As she left the restaurant minutes later, she began composing the letter to Jeremiah in her head. She did fine until she got to the part where she was to write about her feelings to him. Then the memory of Basil’s kiss kept getting in the way. She hummed to herself as she touched her lips, remembering the feel of his mouth on hers.
No, Temperance!
She banged her hand on the pommel of the saddle, startling her horse, making it shy from the path. Temperance’s wayward thoughts stopped quickly, as all her attention was focused on getting her horse under control.

As the horse once again settled into a comfortable trot, her thoughts returned to her letter to Jeremiah. Maybe as she composed her letter, she could write about his kisses as if they were Basil’s. That would certainly convince him that she loved him, wouldn’t it?

• • •

Temperance listened carefully as Joseph’s mother, Mary Tall Feather, a full-blooded Ojibwa, gave the Jones family precise instructions on how to prepare the body for an Indian burial. In accordance with their tradition, Samuel Jones’s body was washed, groomed, and dressed in his Sunday best. Because he had been a circuit rider preacher, Mary deferred from giving him a painted face. His arms were folded across his chest and his Bible was firmly in his hands. Her husband and sons wrapped the body in birch bark and hoisted it out the window, the only opening in the soddy, other than the door. The Ojibwa belief was if the body left the home through the front door, its spirit would find its way back inside the house.

The body was laid in a shallow grave under a tall red oak tree, which grew near the soddy. Its leaves were only now beginning to turn from green to the brilliant red and maroon colors of autumn, but soon they would rain down on the gravesite. Temperance’s father loved to take long walks in the woods, so he would feel right at home here. She stood next to her mother as they waited for the ceremony to begin. Her mother wept softly, but Temperance cleared her eyes of their tears. This was a first for her — participating in a traditional Indian burial ritual. Even though her father was a Church of the Brethern minister, he’d held an open mind to other beliefs, and so did she.

The youngest of the Lafontaine sons, Etienne, and Temperance’s sister Prudence took turns banging slowly on a ceremonial drum. Ginger was in attendance as well. Even though she was only a few months away from giving birth, she refused to be confined at home, and stood now by Joseph’s side.

Joseph was dressed in traditional Indian garb. He wore a deerskin shirt, richly embellished with beading down the front. His legs were covered in deerskin breeches, and a loincloth hung at his waist. Several feathers adorned his straight, black hair. Temperance spent a few minutes watching him as he prepared the sacrificial tobacco.

She understood why Ginger had been swept off her feet by him. Joseph in full Indian regalia was a very handsome, exotic man. The paint on his face emphasized his high cheekbones and his dark eyes. His hair hung loosely around his face and came alive as the breeze caught it. He, Mary Tall Feather, and another brother, Gaston, chanted softly as they drew near the grave.

Normally, the offerings to the Spirits would be performed by a high priest of the tribe, or the shaman. But Mary and Emil’s son Raoul, who was studying to become a shaman, was in Canada learning the Ojibwa ways alongside his grandfather. So the privilege fell to the eldest male with Indian blood.

Joseph stood tall at the foot of the grave and spoke in a low tone to Samuel Jones, wishing him well on his journey to the afterlife. He took the tobacco and raised it over his head. He offered it to the gods of the four winds, facing north, south, then east and west as he continued to chant. He completed the offering of the sacrifice to the sun, moon, thunder, and lightning, as well as the Great Spirit. Joseph continued to chant for a few more minutes, joined by Mary Tall Feather and her other sons. As one, they fell silent, along with the drum.

Justice walked forward, into the place where Joseph had been standing. He was a reed-thin, lanky boy just coming into manhood. His voice was deep, giving promise of the man he was to become, but for now, Temperance thought he resembled the frightened little boy she once rescued from some unruly playmates.

To his credit, he read The Lord’s Prayer from his own scuffed and worn bible without stumbling over the words. Then Temperance walked to the foot of the grave and gazed at all the people who were here for this solemn ceremony. She was surprised, having only been in town a few months, to see this many people in attendance as they buried the patriarch of the Jones household. She smiled a bit tremulously at them.

“My da loved his Lord above all else, so I know he’s walking hand in hand with Him at this moment, and looking down on these somber proceedings with all the love he had in his heart for each of us. I want to honor his time here on earth by reciting one of his favorites. It is the Psalm of David.”

She took a deep breath and began, “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.” Suddenly, tears sprang into her eyes and she was unable to continue. She swallowed hard and struggled for control.

“He … He … ” To her horror, she couldn’t finish the psalm.

“He maketh me to lie down in green pastures.” A voice came low and calm from beside her. She gazed up through her blurry tears to see Basil Fitzpatrick standing alongside her. He smiled at her and took her hand before his gaze went to Samuel Jones. “He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness, for his name’s sake.”

Temperance found her voice again, and joined Basil as they recited her father’s favorite words to him.

Soon, the ceremony drew to a close. Each person at the gravesite took a handful of the sweet-smelling earth and let it fall on top of the birch bark. An offering of food and water was placed beside the grave, and would be replenished by Mary or her sons for the next four days, to help nourish Samuel’s soul as he journeyed to the afterlife. Temperance thought her father would be well pleased with the ceremony.

• • •

“Thank you, Mr. Fitzpatrick, for coming to my aid. I was appalled when I lost my way through the psalm.” Temperance stood beside him still. He finally released her hand, although he did so with great reluctance.

“You didn’t lose your way. You were only overcome with the emotion of it all. The first Indian burial ceremony I attended choked me up, too, and it wasn’t for anyone in my family. This was for your father, so it’s understandable.”

“Nonetheless, thank you. It seems as if all you’ve done since we arrived in town is to come to our aid. When we relay the tale to our children and grandchildren about our migration West, your name will be a part of our story. As will this ceremony. It was lovely, and moving.”