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Authors: Carré White
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Hoffman of Troy, New York.”
“What have they done?” I murmured to myself.
“Pardon?”
“Oh, never mind. What is it?”
He grinned. “That’ll be for you to discover, Mrs. Clark. You need any help getting this out?”
“Yes, please.” I had been in poor spirits just moments earlier, but the prospect of whatever this box contained excited me. “Thank you.” The men carried the crate out the door, towards the carriage, while Nathan stood by the conveyance, his eyes widening at the size of the parcel.
“What’s that?”
“I have no idea. It’s from my parents.”
“What’s it say on the invoice?”
“I’ll find out.” I rushed into the building, striding towards the counter. “Where’s the invoice, Mr. Parnell?”
“Excuse me?” he looked up from whatever he was reading.
“The invoice on my package.”
“Just a moment.” He rifled through a stack of papers, pulling out a crumpled sheet. “It says, one Bath wheelchair.” My parents had purchased a wheelchair for my husband! Stunned, I could only stare at the postmaster. “Is there anything else I can help you with, Mrs. Clark?”
“No, thank you.” I rushed from the building, feeling elated that my family had gone through such effort and expense for Frank. “It’s a wheelchair!”
“Fantastic.”
It had been hoisted onto the wagon. “I need to stop at the bank and the mercantile.” Nathan seemed unperturbed, chewing casually on the toothpick. “You needn’t watch over me. We can meet in an hour, if you like.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, of course.”
He pushed himself away from the wagon, as he had been leaning against it. “Alrighty then.”
“W-where will you be?”
“I’ll gonna kick up a row at the bar.”
My expression fell. “Oh, Mr. Weaver. You wouldn’t.”
“It’s only an hour. That’s hardly enough time to get into any real trouble.” He grinned, flinging the toothpick to the ground. Then he tipped his hat. “Happy shopping.”
I sighed, watching as he sauntered off, his boots clicking on the wooden walkway. He disappeared into the saloon, while hearty male shouts rang out and someone said, “Where’d you go, Nathan? Haven’t seen you for ages. You take French leave or what?”
“Shut up, and pour me a drink.”
Disgusted with the prospect of having to spend the afternoon with a drunkard, I held a burgundy, drawstring purse, determined to have a word with the banker regarding my husband’s affairs. I needed money to pay wages, although I had never handled these matters before in my life. I hated arithmetic, and I felt a twinge of resentment that I now had to deal with this business on top of everything else.
Mr. Ross led me through a set of swinging doors to his office. “How’s Frank doing, Mrs. Clark?”
“He’s in fine spirits. Thank you.”
“I hope he’ll be able to make a full recovery.” He sat behind a heavily carved desk. His expression was concerned, his brows furrowing.
“I…don’t know what you’ve heard, but…it’s looking like his paralysis might be permanent.”
“That’s grave news indeed.”
“I’m here because I need money to pay wages, sir. I’ve no idea about such things, as you can imagine, but now I have to take care of them.”
He opened a folder, reading for a moment. “Ahem,” he cleared his throat. “I’m not certain how much you know, but the account is nearly depleted.” He handed me a piece of paper with numbers written on each line, ending with the sum of $30.
“You mean to tell me that there’s only thirty dollars left in the account?”
“Yes, ma’am. However,” he held up another paper, “you owe several hundred to various businesses.”
My stomach fell. “What?”
“Your husband borrowed money to pay for lumber and supplies, Mrs. Clark.”
I placed fingers over my mouth to keep my lips from trembling. “Why, I didn’t know about that at all. He never said anything. I thought we had plenty of money.”
“I’m
“What have they done?” I murmured to myself.
“Pardon?”
“Oh, never mind. What is it?”
He grinned. “That’ll be for you to discover, Mrs. Clark. You need any help getting this out?”
“Yes, please.” I had been in poor spirits just moments earlier, but the prospect of whatever this box contained excited me. “Thank you.” The men carried the crate out the door, towards the carriage, while Nathan stood by the conveyance, his eyes widening at the size of the parcel.
“What’s that?”
“I have no idea. It’s from my parents.”
“What’s it say on the invoice?”
“I’ll find out.” I rushed into the building, striding towards the counter. “Where’s the invoice, Mr. Parnell?”
“Excuse me?” he looked up from whatever he was reading.
“The invoice on my package.”
“Just a moment.” He rifled through a stack of papers, pulling out a crumpled sheet. “It says, one Bath wheelchair.” My parents had purchased a wheelchair for my husband! Stunned, I could only stare at the postmaster. “Is there anything else I can help you with, Mrs. Clark?”
“No, thank you.” I rushed from the building, feeling elated that my family had gone through such effort and expense for Frank. “It’s a wheelchair!”
“Fantastic.”
It had been hoisted onto the wagon. “I need to stop at the bank and the mercantile.” Nathan seemed unperturbed, chewing casually on the toothpick. “You needn’t watch over me. We can meet in an hour, if you like.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, of course.”
He pushed himself away from the wagon, as he had been leaning against it. “Alrighty then.”
“W-where will you be?”
“I’ll gonna kick up a row at the bar.”
My expression fell. “Oh, Mr. Weaver. You wouldn’t.”
“It’s only an hour. That’s hardly enough time to get into any real trouble.” He grinned, flinging the toothpick to the ground. Then he tipped his hat. “Happy shopping.”
I sighed, watching as he sauntered off, his boots clicking on the wooden walkway. He disappeared into the saloon, while hearty male shouts rang out and someone said, “Where’d you go, Nathan? Haven’t seen you for ages. You take French leave or what?”
“Shut up, and pour me a drink.”
Disgusted with the prospect of having to spend the afternoon with a drunkard, I held a burgundy, drawstring purse, determined to have a word with the banker regarding my husband’s affairs. I needed money to pay wages, although I had never handled these matters before in my life. I hated arithmetic, and I felt a twinge of resentment that I now had to deal with this business on top of everything else.
Mr. Ross led me through a set of swinging doors to his office. “How’s Frank doing, Mrs. Clark?”
“He’s in fine spirits. Thank you.”
“I hope he’ll be able to make a full recovery.” He sat behind a heavily carved desk. His expression was concerned, his brows furrowing.
“I…don’t know what you’ve heard, but…it’s looking like his paralysis might be permanent.”
“That’s grave news indeed.”
“I’m here because I need money to pay wages, sir. I’ve no idea about such things, as you can imagine, but now I have to take care of them.”
He opened a folder, reading for a moment. “Ahem,” he cleared his throat. “I’m not certain how much you know, but the account is nearly depleted.” He handed me a piece of paper with numbers written on each line, ending with the sum of $30.
“You mean to tell me that there’s only thirty dollars left in the account?”
“Yes, ma’am. However,” he held up another paper, “you owe several hundred to various businesses.”
My stomach fell. “What?”
“Your husband borrowed money to pay for lumber and supplies, Mrs. Clark.”
I placed fingers over my mouth to keep my lips from trembling. “Why, I didn’t know about that at all. He never said anything. I thought we had plenty of money.”
“I’m
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