Read Online Every Perfect Gift by Dorothy Love - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dorothy Love
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quiet word, his eyes on Sophie. “What would you have me do, Miss Caldwell?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the men need something to do in the evenings. Something other than drinking whiskey and insulting each other.”
“Maybe you’d like to have them join hands and sing hymns.”
“It’s better than firing weapons and beating up on each other with fists and broken bottles, don’t you think?”
Just then Gillie and a gray-haired Negro man came out leading two horses. “Ready, Sophie?”
“How about if we make a pact?” Mr. Heyward kept his eyes fixed on Sophie. “Don’t tell me how to run my resort, and I won’t tell you how to run your newspaper.”
“Mr. Heyward, I assure you, I—”
He jammed his fists into his pockets. “I’ll leave you to your riding.”
He turned and stalked off, leaving her staring after him.
SIX
Sophie pressed her palms to her tired eyes and sighed. After weeks of waiting, the fancy paper she’d ordered had finally arrived. This morning she’d begun printing Mr. Heyward’s stationery, only to have the jobber press break smack-dab in the middle of the run. Repairing it had stolen an hour of work time. Now it was afternoon and the entire edition of this week’s Gazette still awaited printing.
She rose and placed the finished sheets and envelopes in a large box for delivery to Blue Smoke, then headed to the back room to start the steam press. At least Mr. Heyward would have no reason to fault her for this week’s editorial, a call for the establishment of a women’s and children’s infirmary in Hickory Ridge. Gillie was busy marshaling support for her idea. Robbie Whiting would do what he could, of course, and the Gilmans would support their daughter because the project meant everything to her. Perhaps Sheriff McCracken would back the idea too. According to Wyatt and Ada, he’d lost his wife to illness much too soon.
Outside, the train whistle shrieked. A buggy and a freight wagon rattled toward the depot. Sophie checked the ink supply and loaded the first sheet of newsprint onto the platen. She started the steam press, and the first proof slid onto the tray. She read through it, checking for errors.
The ad for Jasper Pruitt’s mercantile occupied the bottom quarter of the page, advertising a new shipment of sewing notions and canning jars. The merchant’s appearance to place an ad that first week had surprised Sophie. Years ago he’d voiced constant disapproval of her and had done everything possible to discourage Ada from having anything to do with the likes of her. Yet he continued to advertise with her, week after week. Perhaps Robbie was right and attitudes in town had changed.
She finished proofing the first page and paused to wipe her face and get a drink of water. A light breeze drifted through the open window, stirring the bouquet of violets Carrie Rutledge had dropped off on her trip to town yesterday. Sophie added water to the vase, admiring the delicate lavender petals and translucent green leaves, a welcome contrast to the inky, dust-laden composing room.
A face appeared at the open window. “Miss?”
Sophie set down her glass and motioned him to the door. He came in, and she recognized the man who had spoken to her the night of the fight at Blue Smoke. “May I help you?”
He sagged against her desk and shook his head. “I reckon I’m beyond help now. Mr. Heyward just fired me.” He looked up at her, his eyes suspiciously bright, and she realized he was near her own age. In the darkness and confusion at Blue Smoke that night, she had thought he was older.
She picked up a rag and wiped her fingers. “Why would he fire you?”
“He found out I was the one who talked to you that night. He said he doesn’t have room for me now up at Blue Smoke and I shouldn’t have talked to you.”
“That’s ridiculous. Working for Mr. Heyward does not preclude your right to talk to anybody you want to. Good gravy, you aren’t his slave.” She plopped
“I don’t know. Maybe the men need something to do in the evenings. Something other than drinking whiskey and insulting each other.”
“Maybe you’d like to have them join hands and sing hymns.”
“It’s better than firing weapons and beating up on each other with fists and broken bottles, don’t you think?”
Just then Gillie and a gray-haired Negro man came out leading two horses. “Ready, Sophie?”
“How about if we make a pact?” Mr. Heyward kept his eyes fixed on Sophie. “Don’t tell me how to run my resort, and I won’t tell you how to run your newspaper.”
“Mr. Heyward, I assure you, I—”
He jammed his fists into his pockets. “I’ll leave you to your riding.”
He turned and stalked off, leaving her staring after him.
SIX
Sophie pressed her palms to her tired eyes and sighed. After weeks of waiting, the fancy paper she’d ordered had finally arrived. This morning she’d begun printing Mr. Heyward’s stationery, only to have the jobber press break smack-dab in the middle of the run. Repairing it had stolen an hour of work time. Now it was afternoon and the entire edition of this week’s Gazette still awaited printing.
She rose and placed the finished sheets and envelopes in a large box for delivery to Blue Smoke, then headed to the back room to start the steam press. At least Mr. Heyward would have no reason to fault her for this week’s editorial, a call for the establishment of a women’s and children’s infirmary in Hickory Ridge. Gillie was busy marshaling support for her idea. Robbie Whiting would do what he could, of course, and the Gilmans would support their daughter because the project meant everything to her. Perhaps Sheriff McCracken would back the idea too. According to Wyatt and Ada, he’d lost his wife to illness much too soon.
Outside, the train whistle shrieked. A buggy and a freight wagon rattled toward the depot. Sophie checked the ink supply and loaded the first sheet of newsprint onto the platen. She started the steam press, and the first proof slid onto the tray. She read through it, checking for errors.
The ad for Jasper Pruitt’s mercantile occupied the bottom quarter of the page, advertising a new shipment of sewing notions and canning jars. The merchant’s appearance to place an ad that first week had surprised Sophie. Years ago he’d voiced constant disapproval of her and had done everything possible to discourage Ada from having anything to do with the likes of her. Yet he continued to advertise with her, week after week. Perhaps Robbie was right and attitudes in town had changed.
She finished proofing the first page and paused to wipe her face and get a drink of water. A light breeze drifted through the open window, stirring the bouquet of violets Carrie Rutledge had dropped off on her trip to town yesterday. Sophie added water to the vase, admiring the delicate lavender petals and translucent green leaves, a welcome contrast to the inky, dust-laden composing room.
A face appeared at the open window. “Miss?”
Sophie set down her glass and motioned him to the door. He came in, and she recognized the man who had spoken to her the night of the fight at Blue Smoke. “May I help you?”
He sagged against her desk and shook his head. “I reckon I’m beyond help now. Mr. Heyward just fired me.” He looked up at her, his eyes suspiciously bright, and she realized he was near her own age. In the darkness and confusion at Blue Smoke that night, she had thought he was older.
She picked up a rag and wiped her fingers. “Why would he fire you?”
“He found out I was the one who talked to you that night. He said he doesn’t have room for me now up at Blue Smoke and I shouldn’t have talked to you.”
“That’s ridiculous. Working for Mr. Heyward does not preclude your right to talk to anybody you want to. Good gravy, you aren’t his slave.” She plopped
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