A Hero in the Making. Laurie Kingery

who’s gonna repair them?” he asked, though without heat. “I’m no carpenter.”

      “Hank Dayton’s got a lathe at the mill,” Dolly mumbled. “I seen it once.”

      “What does that matter?” Detwiler muttered. “Hank Dayton’s a skinflint who doesn’t give anything away. I don’t know how to operate a lathe.”

      “So we need someone who does,” Ella said, going behind the bar and fetching the two brooms that were propped in the corner. She handed Detwiler one of them. “Let’s get started clearing this mess, and maybe one of us will think of something.”

      “You girls kin go home,” Detwiler said to Dolly and Trudy. “I’ll let you know what I’m going to do—soon’s I figure it out.”

      Ella didn’t try to stop them. There were only two brooms, and the women hadn’t seemed inclined to do more than sit and blubber. She started sweeping, intending to leave the café till last, for she was too afraid Detwiler would give way to despair again if she left him on his own.

      Lord, if you’re up there, we could use some help. She’d never quite believed that the Deity was interested in aiding Ella Justiss, or He would have done so years ago at the asylum, but she figured she’d offer Him the opportunity, at least.

      She left Detwiler to clean his saloon while she went to do the same with her café. She had soon swept the debris into the center of her area and came back to help Detwiler with his larger one. For a time both of them plied their brooms in silence, but as the afternoon went on, the interruptions began—the saloon’s faithful customers stopping in to see if the rumor was true that there was no whiskey or poker games to be had in Simpson Creek because of the vandalism in the saloon. Ella ignored them and kept sweeping, but Detwiler stopped to tell each of his customers what had happened. Ella rather thought he was enjoying the sympathy gained with each encounter, but as these patrons began to build up inside the saloon, chattering with each other over where they would have to go to get their whiskey and card games, and doing nothing to help, even Detwiler began to get testy. Ella was past exasperated at having to ask gents to move while she swept the areas they had been standing in.

      Finally, to Ella’s relief, Detwiler roared an order for all of them to leave, saying he’d put up a sign when the saloon was open again. Then he took a piece of a broken table, and a brush and bootblacking he’d dug up from who knew where and handed them to Ella.

      “Your book learnin’s probably better than mine, Miss Ella,” he said. “Write on the bottom a’ this tabletop Closed Till Further Notice, an’ I’ll prop it up outside.”

      If George only knew how haphazard her “book learning” had been, Ella thought as she bent to her task. The asylum orphans’ schooling had been hit-or-miss, since they couldn’t attend if they were needed to work in the laundry or the kitchens or the superintendent’s wife’s garden. But when Ella was able to go to class, she’d paid attention with a desperate intensity, for she’d known even then it was her ticket to a better life.

      Detwiler had returned after placing the sign outside and Ella was sweeping piles of broken glass into a dustpan when the sound of footsteps had them both looking up. Ella recognized Faith Chadwick, the preacher’s wife, and wondered what she was doing here.

      “Mr. Detwiler, the sheriff told us what happened here. I’m so sorry,” Faith said.

      He’d been stacking broken table and chair legs into a pile like firewood, but now he straightened. “Thank you, ma’am. Yes, it surely is going to be a trial to replace all this.”

      Faith looked troubled, but shifted her gaze to Ella. “I wonder if I might speak to you privately, Ella.”

      Ella wondered what she wanted but gestured for the preacher’s wife to follow her to the café. “I’d ask you to sit down, Faith,” she said, ruefully gesturing at the splintered tables and chairs that littered the tiny area, “but as you can see, that’s impossible just now.”

      Faith nodded, surveying the wreckage. “That’s what I’ve come to speak to you about.”

      Ella gazed at her curiously. She and the pastor’s wife had worked together on Spinsters’ Club projects back before Faith and Reverend Gil Chadwick had married, but Ella didn’t know her very well.

      And that was her own fault, Ella realized. She’d kind of had a chip on her shoulder when she’d first joined the group because she was the only one who rarely made it to meetings and Spinsters’ Club events because of having to work so much—first in the hotel restaurant and lately, in her own establishment.

      “I’d like to help you get started again,” Faith said. “I have a small table in the parlor that we don’t use often, Ella, which I can loan to you, and I happened to pass the mayor’s wife on the way here, and she said she also has a couple of small tables, as well as some dishes and silverware she wants to give you outright. She had her own household before marrying the mayor, of course, so she no longer needs them.”

      Ella couldn’t believe her ears. It was a God-sent answer to her dilemma. “Thank you, Faith,” she breathed. “It’s an answer to a prayer!”

      The preacher’s wife blinked as if the remark had really touched her. “We’re happy to be able to help, Ella dear. It’s what church members do for one another. Gil will be over with those things in a few minutes. He’s borrowing a horse and buckboard from the livery.”

      “Can’t you read the sign? The saloon’s closed till further notice!” Detwiler’s voice boomed from the saloon.

      Faith flinched and the two women exchanged a glance. Ella could guess the preacher’s wife was wishing she could help George somehow, too, but it wouldn’t be fitting for the church to help a saloon owner resume selling spirits and promoting card playing and other activities the church couldn’t approve of.

      “Perhaps I shouldn’t say this, but I can’t help wishing you didn’t have to conduct your business in the back of the saloon, Ella dear,” Faith said.

      Ella sighed. She knew the preacher’s wife meant well, and her arranging to get Ella the furniture, dishes and silverware to resume business was certainly a blessing. But what choice did she have? She was glad Faith didn’t know about the drifter who had manhandled her only yesterday.

      “Yes, I know it’s far from ideal,” Ella admitted. “And believe me, I’m trying my best to earn enough to set up my café elsewhere.”

      “I know,” Faith said, surprising her with a hug before she could back away. “I’m going to pray about it, and see if God will send you a solution.”

      “Thanks—for the prayer and the things you and Mrs. Gilmore are giving me.” Praying won’t hurt, Ella thought, though it’s never seemed to help me very much.

      Ella went back into the saloon, feeling guilty about her good fortune. She would be back in business by tomorrow, while Detwiler was still trying to figure out how to replace his whiskey and his furniture. But when she told the saloonkeeper about Faith Chadwick’s generous offer, the man showed no envy.

      “She’s a good Christian woman,” he said. “Reckon there’s nothing more I can do here. I’ll see if I can help the preacher load up those things and drive ’em over here so he don’t have to come.”

      Ella watched him go. She couldn’t help wishing someday her good works would be worthy of notice. It seemed as if she spent so much time working to survive that she had no energy left for higher goals.

      Well, she wasn’t perfect, but at least she didn’t consort with thieves, like that slick fellow Nate Bohannan, she thought.

      As if summoned by her thoughts, Bohannan walked through the batwing doors.

      “What are you doing here?” she demanded, glaring at him. “There’s nothing left to ruin!” she added, making a sweeping gesture that included the pile of damaged furniture. She thought she saw Bohannan flinch at the sight. Then she saw