A Time to Bloom (Leah's Garden #2)(86)

Lilac flinched. “Just a bit. He’s a growing boy.”

“Tell him he’s going to have to get along with a cat too, one of these days.”

———

The next evening, they set up the church for the meeting by pushing all the desks off to the side away from the benches. Del had kept the fire alive and stoked it up when her sisters arrived. Forsythia brought a pot of coffee and set it on top of the stove to stay hot, and Mrs. Caldwell brought cookies she’d baked that afternoon.

“Square cookies,” one of the ladies said with a chuckle. “Easier to do.”

Beatrice smiled. “That’s right. Besides, I’ve misplaced my cookie cutter.” She shook her head. “No idea where it went.”

As the women arrived, Forsythia poured coffee while Beatrice passed around the cookies.

“Ah, such a treat.” Rachel Armstead, Mrs. Jorgensen’s daughter, smiled in delight. Lark sometimes wondered if Mrs. Jorgensen had lost all her smiles behind the counter at their store.

As soon as everyone was seated, Lark called the meeting to order. “Reverend Pritchard will now lead us in prayer.”

“Welcome, ladies, it’s good to see so many of you here. Let us pray.” He paused. “Lord God, our heavenly Father, we thank you this night for the opportunity to gather here in your house. We ask that you guide the discussion so that your will might be known unto us. Bless us all in Jesus’ precious name. Amen.”

“Thank you.” Lark watched him bid them good evening and leave to head back to Antelope Creek, where he boarded. “Now, ladies, we need to pick up from our last meeting about the temperance rally. Some families in our community are suffering greatly thanks to that liquor tent.”

“I heard about that Kinsley family.” Mrs. Young had a strong voice for one so tiny. “Terrible shame.”

Lark hadn’t necessarily meant to name names, but . . . “Perhaps if the tent was forced to move on and liquor wasn’t so convenient, this situation at least might be helped. Plus, some ruffians have been hanging around our boardinghouse and assaulted William Thacker, one of Mr. Easton’s workmen. We’re hoping they’ve now left Salton.” She looked up to see another woman shaking her head. “You have something to tell us?”

“Someone is camping in that grove over on the river not far from our house. I hesitate to let the boys go fishing, even. That camp can get pretty rowdy.”

Lark’s middle sank. So those men were likely still around.

“My husband says there is gambling out at that tent too.”

“How does he know?” someone else asked.

Beatrice raised her voice. “Can we get back to our discussion, please?” Several mumbled, but all looked to Lark again.

“In other parts of the country, primarily the cities, where drinking problems are much worse—”

“And booze more accessible,” someone chimed in.

“True. Women have been forming temperance leagues to educate people and bring about political reform. And since women are the primary sufferers when a husband gets drunk, we are the ones seeking help. The Bible castigates drunkards and preaches against violence, but most times people drink privately, and men are not the only ones who imbibe until they can’t stop.”

“Can we deal with the situation here in Salton rather than in generalities?” Beatrice asked. “I know the rally is important, but I want to know about the family we might be able to help. Can you tell us what the situation is?”

“A stain upon our town is what it is.” Mrs. Jorgensen stiffened her spine and glared at Beatrice.

“Lark, can you give us more information, please?” Rebecca Weber asked.

Lord, help me. Lark nodded. “The children are missing school and have come to school with various bruises and injuries. The older son has already left home, and the mother is ill and pregnant with another child.” She sucked in a breath. “The children are trying to keep up the chores and harvest their crops.”

“And the father?”

“Passed out on the bed.” Del added the last line.

Mutters darted around the room.

“This is gossip, pure and simple. The Bible speaks against that too.”

“What can we do for them? There is no jail to throw him in. Not that being drunk is a crime, anyway.”

“No wonder the older son left.”

“Well, I never. Who are you to judge?”

“Ladies, ladies.” Lark raised her hands. “I know this is a volatile topic. But that’s why we all need to work together.”

“Excuse me.”

At the soft voice, heads turned.

Climie stood up from a bench, her face pale but resolute. “I have the misfortune to—to have experience being in this kind of . . . situation. And, well, I just want to say I’m grateful the Nielsens didn’t dismiss me as none of their business. And I don’t think we should do that to this woman and her children either.” She sat down and wound her hands in her lap, but Lark could see them trembling. Lilac, sitting beside her, reached to cover Climie’s hands with her own.

“Well.” Mrs. Jorgensen gave a firm nod toward Climie, then glared at the rest of the room. “I’d say that makes our path pretty clear.”

Nods and murmurs, a softening on the faces of those who’d been contentious. Lark’s throat swelled. Oh, Climie, good for you.