need to buy more wood from Mosely at this rate. From what I can see of the street, the town is alive today. Several wagons have already worn a rut down Main."
"We can make do without more wood," Lacy answered without turning from the stove. "I've no money this week, and I can't expect you to keep buying everything. We'll use what wood we have left to keep the downstairs warm. Some of the heat will drift up here."
Walker frowned. He'd wanted to ask about her finances, or lack of them, since he'd arrived, but didn't know how to bring it up. "Doesn't the shop still make a profit?"
Lacy nodded. "Almost every week I'm able to pay the men and Jay Boy out of the earnings and have a few dollars for me. I save back any more than that for the bad weeks or in case the press needs a part. The older the press gets, the more the parts seem to cost. Right now, thanks to the last repair, my rainy day money box is almost empty. In slow times I can make it without my two dollars a week, but the men have families to support. Even Jay Boy's mom depends on his earnings every week."
"I thought you lived on the shop?"
Lacy laughed. "I do live above it."
Walker didn't see anything funny. It appeared she worked for free, a slave to this place. How could she even think about wanting to stay here? "So you've been surviving mostly on my allotment?"
She looked up. "What allotment?"
CHAPTER 9
Walker stood at the bank entrance when Morris Hutchison unlocked the door. The thin, gray-headed man with a waxed mustache that stretched from ear to ear seemed nervous when Walker stormed in a few feet behind him.
"Good morning. May I help you, sir?" Morris asked as he moved behind a massive desk and checked his pocket watch.
The clock by the tellers' booths chimed the hour. "Do you remember who I am, Mr. Hutchison?"
"Of course I remember you. I heard in church yesterday that you were in town. Welcome home, Captain Larson. We kept up with you through your father for years, and now, of course, your wife tells us now and then where you're stationed."
Walker stifled his anger and took the man's bony hand. The banker hadn't melted one degree past frozen in eight years. Hutchison had to be lying about keeping up with him, because, except the once she found him in Cottonwood, Lacy would have no idea where he was stationed.
Two employees hurried in as the clock's last chime sounded. The banker greeted them with a frown, then offered Walker a seat.
"I remember the night you left town. Eight years ago last March, I believe." Hutchison took his place behind the desk. "Sheriff Riley called old Mr. Mitchell and myself to his office. You wanted everything legal before you left. I admired that in one so young."
Walker didn't want to listen to compliments, but he nodded his thank-you. In many ways, like himself, the banker was a man of order.
"You said you were never coming back, but I understand how a wife can change a man's plans." Hutchison's smile stretched his skin across already hollow cheeks. "How can I be of service to you today, Captain?"
"The money I sent home each month starting five years ago, was it delivered here as instructed?"
"Of course. I've been saving it for you in the account we set up."
"It was for my wife."
Hutchison looked worried. "But I received no notice to that effect, and you left very strict instructions that no one could access your account, other than yourself, of course, and your father. I believe the words were even underlined in the legal document Mitchell drew up."
Walker leaned forward. "Are you telling me that you've lived in the same town with my wife for the two years since my father's death and watched her almost starve without allowing her to touch my accounts?" He tempered his ire with the fact that he had not checked on her himself. "You could have notified me of the situation."
Hutchison blanched. "First, I was following your wishes, which is what I do. Second, I'm not aware that your wife is in hard times. She
"We can make do without more wood," Lacy answered without turning from the stove. "I've no money this week, and I can't expect you to keep buying everything. We'll use what wood we have left to keep the downstairs warm. Some of the heat will drift up here."
Walker frowned. He'd wanted to ask about her finances, or lack of them, since he'd arrived, but didn't know how to bring it up. "Doesn't the shop still make a profit?"
Lacy nodded. "Almost every week I'm able to pay the men and Jay Boy out of the earnings and have a few dollars for me. I save back any more than that for the bad weeks or in case the press needs a part. The older the press gets, the more the parts seem to cost. Right now, thanks to the last repair, my rainy day money box is almost empty. In slow times I can make it without my two dollars a week, but the men have families to support. Even Jay Boy's mom depends on his earnings every week."
"I thought you lived on the shop?"
Lacy laughed. "I do live above it."
Walker didn't see anything funny. It appeared she worked for free, a slave to this place. How could she even think about wanting to stay here? "So you've been surviving mostly on my allotment?"
She looked up. "What allotment?"
CHAPTER 9
Walker stood at the bank entrance when Morris Hutchison unlocked the door. The thin, gray-headed man with a waxed mustache that stretched from ear to ear seemed nervous when Walker stormed in a few feet behind him.
"Good morning. May I help you, sir?" Morris asked as he moved behind a massive desk and checked his pocket watch.
The clock by the tellers' booths chimed the hour. "Do you remember who I am, Mr. Hutchison?"
"Of course I remember you. I heard in church yesterday that you were in town. Welcome home, Captain Larson. We kept up with you through your father for years, and now, of course, your wife tells us now and then where you're stationed."
Walker stifled his anger and took the man's bony hand. The banker hadn't melted one degree past frozen in eight years. Hutchison had to be lying about keeping up with him, because, except the once she found him in Cottonwood, Lacy would have no idea where he was stationed.
Two employees hurried in as the clock's last chime sounded. The banker greeted them with a frown, then offered Walker a seat.
"I remember the night you left town. Eight years ago last March, I believe." Hutchison took his place behind the desk. "Sheriff Riley called old Mr. Mitchell and myself to his office. You wanted everything legal before you left. I admired that in one so young."
Walker didn't want to listen to compliments, but he nodded his thank-you. In many ways, like himself, the banker was a man of order.
"You said you were never coming back, but I understand how a wife can change a man's plans." Hutchison's smile stretched his skin across already hollow cheeks. "How can I be of service to you today, Captain?"
"The money I sent home each month starting five years ago, was it delivered here as instructed?"
"Of course. I've been saving it for you in the account we set up."
"It was for my wife."
Hutchison looked worried. "But I received no notice to that effect, and you left very strict instructions that no one could access your account, other than yourself, of course, and your father. I believe the words were even underlined in the legal document Mitchell drew up."
Walker leaned forward. "Are you telling me that you've lived in the same town with my wife for the two years since my father's death and watched her almost starve without allowing her to touch my accounts?" He tempered his ire with the fact that he had not checked on her himself. "You could have notified me of the situation."
Hutchison blanched. "First, I was following your wishes, which is what I do. Second, I'm not aware that your wife is in hard times. She
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